With Noble Intent
by Shakespira
Summary: What happens when a mage who believes in nothing meets a man of integrity?  It isn't all roses and raindrops.  The story of an irreverent mage and a true noble.  Rated M for later chapters.  Moving into AU territory.
1. Chapter 1

**With Noble Intent**

**Prologue**

Josslyn Amell was not supposed to go with Duncan of the Grey Wardens. She was, in fact, supposed to take up duties as an Enchanter, being a woman of twenty-seven, a mage of uncanny, if somewhat lackadaisical, skill. Children loved and obeyed her and the Senior Enchanters thought it was the safest place for her, with one exception. Wynne thought it was a very dangerous idea. She thought Josslyn should stay in the research laboratory where the only thing she was likely to hurt was the odd rat or two.

Joss, as she was called by her friends, was a practical joker and found humor in almost any situation. When she couldn't find it, she created it. Senior Enchanter Torres called her Pepper whenever he saw her, a reference to the pepper she had laced the apple tarts with one evening. Knight Commander Greagoir had turned a stunning shade of red as he choked on the tarts and provided a very entertaining few moments as he gulped copious amounts of water.

Senior Enchanter Sweeny insisted she was his long lost daughter, although Josslyn thought she was more likely to be his granddaughter, given his age. But he had been quite a prankster in his youth and he was always giving her advice on how to pull off the best pranks. He particularly enjoyed anything to do with fire, which worried Joss just a bit.

Niall once called her a Red Haired Witch, which was not technically true. Her hair was a rich auburn color. His, however, had mysteriously turned red after that. A sizzling, fiery red. Apparently some miscreant had put dye in his shampoo. It was months before his hair regained its natural dark brown gloss. Months in which Joss snickered every time she passed by him.

Alim Surana, the mage recruit that Duncan had chosen to join the ranks of the Grey Wardens, had the misfortune of dying while helping another mage escape. He had tried using a new spell and it had backfired, causing him to go up in a ball of pink tinted fire and smoke, according to a very distraught Lily, an initiate who had witnessed it while trying to escape with her lover, a blood mage named Jowan. Nobody ever learned what the spell was or where he had learned it but Jowan had come running out of the Repository, eyes wild, right into the waiting hands of Knight Commander Greagoir and his bevy of brave templars. A fiasco ensued wherein Lily was sent to Aeonar and Jowan escaped as the templars all took a brief nap. It was not a glorious day for the Circle of Magi or the templars. Knight Commander Greagoir was most unhappy.

Josslyn was talking with Cullen when the commotion reached them. They had been discussing the ink splotches on her face, or rather she had been explaining them and he had been stammering about the shape of one in particular that reminded him a bit of a mabari. Cullen, being as bashful as a newly married virgin, couldn't bring himself to wipe the offending ink off until she handed him a cloth. Apparently touching her bare skin was a mortal sin. When they heard that Jowan was a blood mage and had escaped after destroying his phylactery, Cullen had taken a very large step away from her, stammering that he had duties to see to and c-c-c-could s-s-s-she please excuse h-h-him. Josslyn liked Cullen, thought he was as sweet as cream and twice as thick. She watched him take his very hurried leave with a pert smile. He was adorable in the way that puppies, kittens and babies were adorable. Wonderful to play with, hell to take care of.

With his favorite mage no longer among the living, Irving cast about for someone to take Alim's place that would help save the circle's reputation and finally called a young apprentice to go in search of Josslyn. She would do very nicely. She was brilliant, if a bit eccentric. She was strong, if a bit laid back. She was cheerful, if a bit of a prankster. She was dedicated, if a bit absent-minded. She was…Josslyn…and that was all that could be said on the subject.

And so it was through Alim's misfortune that Josslyn Winifred Amell came to be a Grey Warden. She was ambivalent about her new career but willing enough to go out in the world and help slay dragons or whatever it was Duncan kept babbling on about. She thought Duncan was a nice enough man, though he didn't have much of a sense of humor, always nattering on about darkspawn and duty.

When she sent the fireball into the pile of wood to set the wood ablaze their first night in camp she'd no idea Duncan was about to lean down and blow on the fire. It seemed to her a rather convoluted way to start a fire with a mage in attendance. She reassured him that his eyebrows would grow back quickly and his singed beard just needed a bit of trimming to make it look even. He stroked his uneven beard and sighed and then tried once more to explain what fighting the darkspawn was like and what was expected of her.

"Whoa, wait," Josslyn said, holding her hand up. "Go back to the part where there's a ritual. Not one of those dead of night, blood drinking, sacrifice a goat rituals, right?"

She gave Duncan credit for trying to keep his face neutral but his left eyebrow, or what was left of it, rose at her remark. Joss sighed. "Hope it's not the goat thing, I'm not fond of animals."

Poor Duncan. Joss couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit sorry for him. He'd come to the tower for a serious battlemage and wound up with her. She was a great mage, had some awesome skills, could read Arcanum, heal when necessary, make health potions from hay and dirty socks if needed and cook a very palatable lambless stew.

She could not, however, stand bugs or creepy crawly things, hated the slithering sounds that seemed to grow louder as their first night in camp wore on and was at a loss to explain how the raccoon ended up in bed with her and why it was now dead and encased in a block of ice. Or perhaps, Joss thought, looking at the block of iced raccoon, it had died because it was encased in ice.

Duncan was very good natured about the whole thing. Once he stopped chuckling he kindly offered to dispose of the dead raccoon. Apparently the raccoon was not as dead as they thought. A few minutes later she heard a startled yelp of pain, a few extremely colorful curses involving varies parts of Andraste's anatomy and series of high pitched barking noises.

The scratches were easy enough to heal but Duncan decided since they were both up and the moon was bright they might as well continue on. Joss was happy enough to be on the road again. The sooner they reached somewhere civilized the better. No-one had ever bothered to mention to her that the big yellow orb in the sky actually burned skin. Nobody thought to tell her that traveling in the thin boots with the soft soles that all mages in the tower were issued would lead to blisters the size of sovereigns on her feet if she wore them outside the tower. And why, by Andraste's fat ass, had not one person thought to explain that an insect called a mosquito could leave itchy welts on her skin that no amount of healing could stop? She thought with longing of her soft bed and soft life.

Ostagar was hardly an improvement. All that could be said was that misery loves company and there was certainly plenty of misery. And company to share it with. She met the king, wondering if he had been dropped on his head as an infant because he couldn't understand that fighting an army of monsters might possibly lead to anything other than glory for all. And he caressed her bottom on his way to hide from Teyrn Loghain. She wondered if she could shoot a smidgeon of ice at him and get away with it but decided that the guards walking with him probably would retaliate.

Teyrn Loghain wanted to know if she knew her history on the Grey Wardens and if she was out for glory. She explained that she was not all that happy to be out of the tower and she thought glory was for fools. He laughed in agreement but it wasn't a sound that gave her any sense of comfort or camaraderie. A dry, ironic sound followed by a sarcastic remark about Joss being wiser than she looked which made her send her mildest jolt of lightning into his pretty Chevalier's armor as he entered his tent.

She was chuckling as she walked away, the squawk of surprise and discomfort from Loghain Mac Tir magic to her ears. Barmy. The lot of them. The King, Loghain, the quartermaster who expected her to go hunt down his servants. And Maker's left nut, what was Wynne doing at Ostagar? The only person she wanted to see less than Wynne was that stuck-up prissy prig Uldred.

"Ah, so it is you," Wynne said with a disapproving tsk of her patronizing tongue.

"Wynne, I'm surprised to see you assisting the king's army, given your age," Joss replied with a beatific smile. Wynne's eyes narrowed perceptibly but she kept her smile in place because they were in public and Wynne was all about appearances.

"Yes, I imagine it is a bit difficult to understand duty, dear," the Queen of Mages remarked with pursed lips.

And it went downhill from there. She finally found the Grey Warden that was supposed to teach her the ropes and he was a templar who made Cullen look like a lecherous beast. The first thing he asked was if she was a mage, as if the robes she wore and the staff she carried weren't a dead giveaway.

"No, I wear the robes of a mage because they are the very latest style. I hear even Empress Celene wears them in private," she replied with a bright smile, opening her eyes wide.

"Ha! Good one, I've never heard that before," the templar named Alistair chuckled, looking remarkably, eerily like King Cailan when he did. A by-blow? Possible. Likely. Isn't that was the nobles did?

And because her day was rolling along so well, they were sent out to a place called the Korcari Wilds with a knight who wanted fame and glory and a cutpurse who was interested in more than her purse. She spent as much time evading his hands as she did killing all the nasty creatures that inhabited the mosquito infested swamp.

They went in search of blood for a ritual that smacked of blood magic to Joss which involved killing the most Maker forsaken creatures she could imagine and while they weren't particularly smart, they smelled atrocious and fought like a maiden protecting her virginity.

After watching poor Cutpurse die from the ritual and Knight Idiot refuse the cup and brandish his weapon at Duncan, who struck him down with quick efficiency and real regret, the cup was in her hands. If she'd managed to avoid a Sword of Mercy for the twenty three years she'd lived in the tower, she wasn't about to be skewered by a Grey Warden. Closing her eyes and pinching her nose between her thumb and her forefinger, she took the plunge. Literally.

As she sat up a short time later, healing the large goose egg on the back of her head, she glowered at Duncan. "A pillow would have been nice. Or you might have at least attempted to catch me when I fell," she groused.

Duncan tried hard not to smile and he was mostly successful. "I'll take that under advisement," he said, helping her to her feet.

Templar Alistair was blushing several shades of red and mumbling about the honor of joining the Grey Wardens, so bashful that she felt like blushing for him.

She stood with Duncan, feeling rather cocky and self assured as the King Cailan and Loghain argued about the battle plans. She was confident that no matter what they wanted her to do, she'd be able to handle it. Until she saw Uldred step up and offer his services. Josslyn felt her first tickle of fear. If he was involved in the battle it wasn't going to be all roses and raindrops.

It wasn't. It was the loudest, bloodiest, most brutal thing she'd ever had the misfortune to witness and it changed her in ways she couldn't even begin to comprehend.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **_Wow, thank you so much for the overwhelming response to this story!_

**No Place Like Home**

Surprisingly enough, Joss found a dog. Or rather a dog found her. A great lumbering beast with enough slobber to completely wash the mud off her robes and who seemed to be the only one of her group who had a sense of humor. She named him Styxandstones, but called him Styx. He was another survivor of the debacle known as Ostagar and she felt an odd kinship with the dog, surprising considering she hated animals in general.

Joss would never understand how a general who had successfully led Ferelden in a rebellion against the Orlesian occupation and then kept the borders safe for thirty years could have so badly miscalculated the threat posed by the darkspawn. She would never understand why Uldred wasn't allowed to light the beacon from a safe distance at the proper time. She would never understand why King Cailan committed suicide by fighting in the front lines. She would never understand why Duncan hadn't explained that the river of darkspawn marching towards Ostagar was not coming for a damned tea party and she would never understand why an ancient abomination saved her or why she insisted on sending her daugher with them. It was as if common sense had taken a holiday.

Quite by accident, Josslyn discovered Morrigan didn't have a sense of humor their first night in camp. Joss went to the apostate's campfire and stood warming her hands. She smiled at Morrigan, who eyed her suspiciously.

"Yes, what do you wish of me?" Morrigan asked in that icy, imperious manner that made Joss want to laugh out loud. She wasn't the bloody queen, she was an apostate, but she seemed to see herself far above the mundane people around her.

"I have a personal question, if you'll indulge me?" Joss asked with a slight smile.

"If it's about my abilities to shapeshift, 'tis not something I will share with someone who professes to miss her oppressors."

Joss snorted. She hated bugs and critters, why in the world would she want to be one? And the notion that she had been oppressed struck her as amusing. She had been cared for by people who taught her how to harness the power of her magic. Sure, there was a down side to it, but life was like that, full of complicated relationships and compromises, you either embraced them or railed against them. Those that railed tended to be miserable.

"Absolutely. At the age of four I decided that being a chantry slave was a worthy goal and thus it happened. The hot meals and soft bed were a bonus, really. Of course if I had an ageless abomination for a mother I'm sure I would have chosen to live in a mosquito infested swamp instead. Ah, what opportunities that must have presented you with."

Morrigan narrowed her golden eyes and stared coldly at Joss. "Speak then. What is it you wish to know?"

"What spell do you use that allows your very scanty top to stay in place and your breasts to remain perfectly still during battles? It's the most amazing thing I've ever seen and frankly I want to know because it looks much more comfortable than a breast band," Joss said, eyeing the "magical" garment in question.

Shapeshifting into a raven, Morrigan flew away, squawking like a mother angrily scolding her wayward child. Joss thought she might have left for good but the apostate returned a few hours later. Joss watched her thoughtfully from the comfort of her seat by the fire. Why would an apostate who seemed to abhor people in general, and circle mages in particular, stay with them? Obviously the legendary Flemeth wanted something from them. But what? A mystery that tickled at Josslyn's brain and made for amusing scenarios.

Joss's interest had been real. She had learned very quickly that fighting in her breast band and tight mage's robe was tiring and awkward and painful when Alistair allowed an enemy through his defenses. She wasn't about to wear the heavy chain armor Alistair favored, but she needed something looser that would also provide some protection. Only a misogynist could have created the female mage robes and been happy with the results. They were torture, with their tight bodices and straight, curve hugging skirts.

She snickered the next morning as they started off down the rough path to Lothering. She watched Morrigan vainly surveying her charms, still neatly packed in her skimpy top, not a nipple out of place. There _had_to be some sort of magic involved. Nobody was so firm that there wasn't a bit of jiggle or bounce when they walked on uneven ground. It wasn't human. Okay, that wasn't a happy thought. Josslyn was almost positive Morrigan was human. Almost.

* * *

Josslyn loathed Lothering. She waded through a steady deluge, not just from the skies, which opened up with the vengeance of a spurned lover, but also from the people who wanted her to find bandits and kill poison or kill bandits and find poison or something. Honestly, they all whined about needing things and cried about how dire their lives were but they weren't doing anything to help themselves.

Joss felt like she was wearing a sign on her back as they made their way through the town, one that said, _"Homeless, will work for food."_ Every Johnny Lightweight was there to ask for a handout or demand help finding a lost leg of lamb or any number of ridiculous things.

"Styx, stay out here and look fierce," Joss instructed severely as they stood in front of the chantry. Everyone knew the best place to pick up the local gossip was not the tavern, but the chantry. Styx settled his face into fierce lines and let out a low growl. Very menacing, except for the wagging rump and the drool. Joss shook her finger at Styx and repeated, "Fierce." Styx barked and rolled over.

"Who's the cute doggy? Who's the cute and adorable one? You're the cute…" Alistair cooed.

"Alistair! People are staring. They're probably wondering if there isn't some unnatural, unhealthy relationship between you and Styx," Joss hissed in a loud whisper.

"What? No! No, I'm just playing with the dog," Alistair protested loudly, his face red and radiating enough heat to boil their tea water.

"Ah, _playing _with the dog," Joss said knowingly, elbowing him playfully with a wink. Several of the townspeople tittered while others gave Alistair a wide berth.

"You are a mean, mean woman," he grumbled at her. She patted his cheek.

"Darling boy, you are not the first to tell me that. I doubt you'll be the last."

"I'm not a boy, I'm not that much younger than you," he protested with a huff of indignation.

Perhaps not in years, but in terms of the world, he was in his infancy. Still, she liked him much in the way she liked hot buttered toast and honeyed tea on a cold morning. And it was such fun to watch him squirm and burn with embarrassment. Almost as much fun as watching Morrigan squawk and fly off in a huff.

The only bright spot of their time in Lothering was running into Aerin Bryant again. She had always wondered what had become of him and when she entered the Lothering Chantry and saw him in all his sartorial splendor, she was stricken with a bout of homesickness for the tower with its clean bedding and orderly halls and regular, well cooked meals. And large linen closets, she amended with a grin of remembered bliss.

"What in the Maker's name are you doing out here?" Ser Bryant asked, his face suffused in an odd shade of red. Obviously he was afraid word would get out that he'd done a mage. Like she would go spouting off about doing it with a templar while standing in a chantry. Andraste's flaming breath, did he think she was insane? Joss thought better of asking him that, afraid he would not only say she was but list why she was.

"Just out for a bit of a stroll. I took a wrong turn at Ostagar."

"_You _are the Grey Warden? Maker, Joss, why in Thedas would you join the Grey Wardens?" Ser Bryant asked, appalled.

Joss didn't have a snappy comeback so she ignored the question and asked for money instead. Aerin handed her a very fat coin pouch and asked, "You know Loghain put a price on your head?"

"Oh for the love of a false god, it was one little zap," Joss complained, rolling her eyes. "Does nobody in Ferelden have a sense of humor?"

Aerin raised a brow, his warm eyes dancing. "You zapped Loghain Mac Tir? With lightning?"

"Well of course with lightning, how else? So he put a price on our head? That hardly seems like a reasoned response, does it?"

Ser Aerin Bryant shook his head. "I'd suggest getting out of Lothering in a hurry. There are a lot of desperate folks here that would be happy to claim the bounty on your head."

"Aerin, you need to leave as well. You all do. I've seen the enemy and it's worse than any abomination," Joss said seriously. "Worse than any demons we hunted together."

"I will do what I can, Josslyn. I need to ensure the safety of these people first. My templars are all that stand between the refugees and the horde."

"Yes, your duty. It always did come first," Joss agreed with a sassy smile. Without a second thought she leaned up and kissed his cheek. "Stay safe, Aerin."

The time in Lothering went downhill from there. Ser Donall, a knight in service to Redcliffe, rambled on about the ashes of a dead prophet and Arl Eamon falling sick. At first Josslyn thought the Arl had eaten some ashes and fallen sick from them. Really, who could blame a person for falling ill after consuming ashes? The story was a bit confusing until she finally figured out that they were searching for ashes that might cure the arl. The news sent Alistair into a glum sulk that made Joss want to shake him. Finally she agreed to visit Redcliffe as soon as they finished resupplying in Lothering.

They encountered a giant in a locked cage, who claimed to have killed an entire family with his bare hands. He was Qunari, Joss realized. She had read once that Qunari cut out the tongues of their mages and then leashed them. She could believe it, looking at the tall, bronzed giant.

"We could use someone with his abilities," Alistair said in a loud whisper.

"Sure, why not? After he cuts my tongue out and leashes me, takes over the leadership and murders you with his bare hands, he and Styx can run off into the sunset," Joss replied facetiously.

"Well, 'tis something I would enjoy," Morrigan spoke up, arms crossed, eyes remarkably cold for being the color of golden beryl.

"You're a mage too, Morrigan. You think your tongue is safe? Oh, on second thought, maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing," Joss retorted. Sighing, she continued, "Listen, if we are going to get the armies gathered and fight the Archdemon, we can't waste a lot of time worrying about a Qunari who views life with so little regard."

The Qunari nodded solemnly. "A wise statement," he pronounced and stood back in his cage, arms folded, stoic and proud. She met his eyes and for a minute was tempted to break the lock on his cage and let him out. He would undoubtedly be of use but the thought that he could kill an entire family with his bare hands stayed her tongue. He was not a risk she was willing to take.

Finally Joss turned away and went toward the tavern, anxious to grab a mug of ale and a plate of food before they continued on their way. Of course there were soldiers inside waiting for them, Loghain's men. It reminded her of the plot of an old novel she had read once. The heroine was pursued by an angry noble who sent soldiers out to capture her and return her to the noble who then made such brilliant love to her that she overcame all her earlier resistance and became his willing sex slave. Yeah. It didn't work that way. And it was only one little zap, for the love of Andraste's ashes. A little, tiny, harmless zap.

After the soliders were subdued, which took a remarkably short amount of time, Joss looked the soldiers up and down. "Tell Loghain that he's finally made me angry and if he thought that last zap hurt, he hasn't seen anything yet. Tell him I'm coming for him," she told them contemptuously, although in truth she was sniggering at how righteous she sounded. For good measure, she hit them each with a mild jolt of electricity. Yelping, they ran out the door. Josslyn's smile came out to play as she watched their retreating figures.

A chantry initiate was cleaning the blade of a lethal looking dagger with a nonchalance that spoke of years of practice. "I was happy to help," she said in a perky, Orlesian sweetened voice. Orlesian had always struck Joss as a language best spoken with a mouth full of molasses. It was the way the syllables rolled sweetly over each other.

"You didn't help, you interfered. Big difference. Huge, actually. And why would you?" Joss asked, wishing she could adjust her breast band as it was riding up and beginning to pinch uncomfortably. Really, there had to be a better contraption or armor or spell. She cast a quick glance at Morrigan's assets, still neatly packaged. Bitch.

"The Maker told me to," the woman said and then laughed self consciously.

Crazy. The entire town of Lothering was populated by crazy lunatics. Joss took several steps back. Whining, crazy lunatics, Joss amended. She stared at the cute red headed Orlesian in the chantry robes, waiting for her to start drooling or twitching or something. When she didn't do anything outwardly crazy, Joss nodded. "Well, tell the Maker thanks much but we're fine."

Turning on her heel, she made her way out of the tavern.

"How very wise you are, Josslyn, to turn away every offer of help. 'Twould seem you will single handedly defeat the Blight," Morrigan said acerbically.

"You're absolutely right, Morrigan. Let's take a cold blooded killer along, that would solve our problems of how to gather an army because we'd all wake up dead one morning," Josslyn replied with an equal amount of acid in her tone. Maker's hind tooth, was she going to bitch through the entire Blight?

"And the chantry sister? She was a skilled fighter," Alistair chimed in.

"Who is not exactly the brightest candle in the chandelier," Joss retorted. "She hears voices. In fact, she hears the voice of a mythological deity. Doesn't that bother you?"

"Hey, that's no way to talk about the Maker," Alistair argued, choosing to ignore the comment about the woman's state of mind.

"When you have empirical proof, you be sure and bring it to me," Joss shot back, hefting her pack onto her shoulder. She wondered if she could get Styx to carry it. Perhaps if she added doggy treats to it?

"Still, she could help. I don't think we can afford to turn down every offer of help."

"So, Sister Knits with One Needle should come with us?" Joss asked, staring at both of her companions. She was about to shake her head and walk away but Styx whined and looked at her with huge puppy dog eyes. And winked. He bloody winked at her. Damned dog was smarter than all of the, she was sure of it.

"Fine, tell the enchanting chantry madwoman she can come along. But I am absolutely _not _bringing along Giant Killer Qunari Man," she added and strode off to wait at the edge of town for her companions.

Of course there was a group of angry, hungry citizens waiting for her, intent on splitting the bounty on her head. Without thinking, she gathered up her magic and settled a paralyzing spell on the group.

"Now that I have your attention, listen to me very carefully. If you want money to feed your families, go to the chantry board, there are several jobs listed there. And a guy in the tavern needs someone to make some poison for him, and a lady with a lisp needs traps made. Don't kill me, work for your money. You'll be much happier. And alive. Perspective is good, isn't it?"

She walked on, ignoring the confused babble of voices as the spell wore off. Let them earn their money by helping their fellow Lotheringites. Lotheringians? Fellow citizens.

Leliana turned out to be a remarkably good cook and a pleasant if slightly crazy person. She truly believed her vision from the Maker. She talked to Alistair and Joss about it over dinner and when she mentioned a single perfect rose, Alistair turned slightly green and cast several frantic looks at a pack that was laying in front of his tent.

"Relax, Alistair, you'd think you had the rose in there or something," Joss told him, passing the last of the venison steak to him. He became engrossed in his meat.

* * *

As they trudged along the rutted road to Redcliffe, Josslyn peppered Alistair with Warden questions, most of which he didn't know the answer to. Even if they found recruits for the Order, they wouldn't be able to actually perform the Joining. Alistair was pretty sure there was a compound in Denerim with a vault where the secret recipe was kept. The problem with a secret Order was all the damned secrets it kept, Joss thought crossly.

"You know whoever came up with all this nonsense wasn't thinking very clearly. There are always going to be people willing to join, even knowing all the nasty little secrets. Now here we are, the only two Wardens in Ferelden and we're traipsing around the countryside together. Does that make sense to you? If we get ambushed, bye-bye Ferelden, swallowed up by the Archdemon. Wouldn't it make more sense for one of us to head to Orlais for help while the other gathers the armies?"

Alistair stopped in his tracks and turned to her with a stricken look on his face. "Loghain wouldn't allow them to enter the country."

"Well not if they stop at the border and ask for permission, no. But I suspect a few dozen could sneak across the border without much trouble."

"I'm not sure there's time for that."

"Alistair, we have to find the Dalish, talk the dwarves into helping and I have to fight with Greagoir the Grim for assistance. That's a lot of crisscrossing the countryside. That will take months and months. It makes a lot more sense to split up. Think about it and we'll talk with this Arl Eamon about it. He might be able to offer some advice."

They trudged on in silence for some time and just as they turned onto the twisting path to Redcliffe he stopped again, looking unusually embarrassed even for him. "Uh, Josslyn? The story I told you about being a bastard and Arl Eamon raising me? Well…" he stammered to a stop and rubbed the back of his neck.

"If you're going to finally confess that your father was King Maric, save yourself the stammer. I knew that the moment I saw you smile."

Alistair looked as relieved as someone who had just had a painful boil lanced. He grinned boyishly and blew out his breath in relieved sigh. "You aren't too bad for a mage," he complimented. High praise indeed, coming from a templar.

Josslyn looped her arm through his and continued down the winding path. Styx barked happily. "You know, all my templar lovers tell me the same thing," she teased, watching with delight as the blush crept up his neck and arced into his cheeks.

Finally, he started babbling about home and sleeping in the stables and she listened, behaving herself with great effort.

"It seems funny coming back here after so long, but I used to consider it home."

Home. A comfortable bed, a warm bath, a soft life. Pranks and making love in linen closets with forbidden lovers, the smell of leather bindings on old books. The sound of Torrens laughing at Niall's apple red hair. She and Petra and Kinnon playing 'zap and run' with the templars late at night. Listening to the howling wind off Lake Calenhad while snuggled under a pile of blankets. She stifled a sigh.

"There's no place like home," she agreed.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **_Thank you, Lisakodysam, for your encouragement today. I really needed it._

**_Dead Men Don't Wear Plate_**

They started down the steep path to the village and Joss stared at the surrounding cliffs. Whoever had named the village, and the castle that stood with stony indifference on a bluff overlooking the town, had not been very clever or original. Red cliffs. Redcliffe? It only reinforced her notion that there was entirely too much inbreeding within the ranks of the nobility.

And why was it that in every town, no matter how poor, no matter how rough and tumbled down the homes and shops were, the chantry was always large and well maintained, a prosperity that was obscene when standing amidst the humble hovels of its citizenry? And more importantly, why didn't people rail against such obscenity? They were like sheep following the shepherd into the slaughterhouse. Josslyn did not understand what comfort they found in handing over their own ability to think in order to have someone else do it for them. And poorly at that, she thought, kicking a stone along the path.

Naturally it was to that very building that the semi-hysterical guard, his voice high and frantic, led the little group. He had been so disbelieving when she'd said she had no idea what was going on in the village of Redcliffe. Well, how could she? It wasn't as if she'd stumbled across any town criers between Lothering and Redcliffe. And there was a civil war starting, in case the man hadn't heard. And oh yes, she was being hunted by a humorless man bent on destroying the country so that when the Orlesians arrived there'd be nothing left worth conquering. So sorry for not knowing there was trouble in the little village of Redcliffe as well. He didn't seem to appreciate or even understand sarcasm. Perhaps inbreeding was not confined to the nobility.

By the frantic ravings of the young man Josslyn expected to see the entire town in flames, with corpses stacked in huge mounds, women and children running through the streets holding their heads and screaming. The arl might be dead, a large number of villagers were dead, but a noble savior named Teagan was doing what saviors did, saving the day. Another poorly written adventure tale, Josslyn thought in wry amusement as they made their way to her least favorite place.

She slipped on the steep hill leading into the village and went sliding into Alistair and Leliana, bringing them both down with her in a heap. Leliana, bee-stung mouth tightening, uttered something in Orlesian that didn't sound very ladylike. Alistair was blushing as his gauntleted hand came to rest on Josslyn's left breast. She thought he was going to go out in a blaze of glory; his cheeks were so hot and red. He scrambled backwards, stuttering and spluttering like a drowning puppy.

"Why you lusty thing, you!" she exclaimed with a saucy grin, thinking he couldn't possibly blush any harder but of course he proved her wrong.

She climbed to her feet and brushed her filthy robe off. What was that stuff now attached to the material covering her left breast? She glared at Alistair.

"The next time you decide to eat a hunk of cheese, take your gauntlet off!" she growled, trying to remove the offending bits of cheese. The more she brushed at them, the worse the softened bits of cheese clung to the material. Sighing, she continued following Thomas into the village.

There was much gnashing of teeth and beating of chests and wailing going on when they entered the chantry. A pretty young girl was weeping into her apron. An old man was consoling a young girl. A small boy was crying pitifully for his father. People were in various poses of fear. Of course everyone stopped to watch the strangers walk up the aisle. Anders had once told her, as they were sharing a meal late one night, that misery loves company. She thought otherwise, looking at all the faces now fixed on her group. Misery loves distraction. Her group certainly provided that.

Looking at the man they were approaching, Joss had the fleeting wish that she'd found a tub and bathed before their arrival in Redcliffe . Her bedraggled appearance, torn and filthy robes, sunburned nose, hair sticky and straw-like, was no doubt a bit off putting. Well, actually, probably a lot off putting. She turned away and rubbed at her teeth with her finger, hoping her morning breakfast wasn't still lodged anywhere, before turning and bestowing on the hero her most dazzling smile. His returning smile was an automatic gesture, polite and refined. _So much for dazzle_. Was it the streaks of cheese on her left breast that he kept glancing surreptitiously at?

Bann Teagan was a gorgeous man. Even looking a bit harried and exhausted he managed to look every inch the hero of an adventure tale. His eyes were a perfect shade of blue with a hint of green in them, his features sitting perfectly on his face. She particularly enjoyed the strong nose and the firm curve of his well formed lips. Lips, she thought, that should be doing wicked things to her. She put that thought away with a great deal of difficulty. He was utterly charming and gracious and very concerned for the villagers under his care. He was the epitome of nobility. He should give lessons to his fellow nobles on how to act, Joss thought sourly, remembering her few brush ups with nobles.

There were introductions, of course, and a brief happy reunion between Teagan and Alistair. There was a plea for help killing the creatures and saving the villagers. "Of course we'll help, although there are only four of us."

Styx growled, jumping on her, paws pushing at her shoulders as he shook his brindled head. She staggered back under his weight, nearly landing in a heap for the second time that day. As if the hero needed to see her in any more ridiculous a light.

"Did I say four? I meant five. In fact, let's call it six since Styx fights with the fury of two men," she said by way of apology to her smarter-than-most-humans mabari. Damned dog was as sensitive as an abscessed tooth. She rubbed his head affectionately and was licked in reward. At least that hand was slightly cleaner now.

Teagan Guerrin smiled his relief and the smile that had been automatic and polite earlier was now bright and fiendishly charming. Once she had finished wiping the drool off her chin, a parting gift from Styx, Joss began to question him.

"These walking corpses, are they talking and wearing plate armor or just coming in waves and seem pretty mindless?"

Teagan looked a bit startled by the question and Alistair spoke up, "Well what does that matter?"

"What does that matter?" Joss echoed in surprise. _Now_ he was going to start questioning her? After two weeks of following her around like Zombie Kitty, now he was going to find his voice? She shook her head and began to speak but was interrupted.

Morrigan, as haughty as the Grand Cleric, spoke up. "'Twould seem your circle education is not so complete after all," she sniped regally. "'Tis obvious you have no idea what to do."

Joss shot her a look that focused on Morrigan's magical top. "Listen, _Morri_, while you and your mother were luring Chasind men and templars alike to their deaths, and learning unnatural levitation spells, I was studying the Fade and the demons therein. That's my specialty. I think, even though I don't have an _abomination_ for a mother, I understand the situation well enough."

She loved the way Morrigan's face twisted ever so slightly when she was called Morri. Joss was not overly thrilled to notice that the entire chantry had gone quiet at her mention of demons however. And sadly, she determined from Morrigan's complete lack of reaction that the top business was not a levitation spell. _Maybe a telekinetic spell? Hmmm._

"Demons?" Teagan asked quietly. He really didn't seem all that nervous about it. That was reassuring. The Revered Mother, however, was looking at her with dagger eyes. _Poisoned _dagger eyes, Joss amended mentally.

"The reason I ask is because it will tell me if there are mages and mind control at work or if there is a tear in the Veil."

"The Veil?" he asked, finally looking a bit nervous. Ah, even the handsome hero had his fears. Disappointing but somehow endearing.

"The thing that separates the Fade from the waking world. Are these corpses wearing heavy plate and acting independently or are they just a mass of idiots?" Joss asked patiently.

"No plate and they come in waves. They are extremely difficult to kill."

"Well sure, they're _dead_. Hard to kill something already dead," Joss agreed with a smile that she hoped was reassuring.

"Counting staff and the arl's troops, how many live at the castle?"

Teagan frowned. "I don't know for sure. Ser Perth would know. He's up by the windmill, trying to rally his knights. Talk to him. And talk to Murdock. He's out front helping organize the militia. Why does that matter?" he asked, his unruffled manner suddenly becoming slightly ruffled around the edges.

Joss lowered her voice and leaned in closer. She didn't really want everyone in the chantry to run screaming into the streets of Redcliffe. "Because if this is a case of demons at play, the more bodies they have at their disposal the more undead we will have to work through. It would help to have a count of how many you have killed and how many might remain."

She was tempted to cast a rejuvenating spell on him as he paled further. It occurred to her as she took in his pallor that he might have more than just his brother's family to worry about. She reached out and touched him lightly, letting the faintest hint of magic release from her fingers into his arm and then wash gently through his body. He blinked but said nothing, as if he wasn't quite sure what he might have felt, if anything. Joss had learned that magic was as much about finesse as power.

"Do you have family in the castle?" she asked sympathetically.

The bann looked puzzled by that question, an adorable crinkling at the corners of his eyes forming as he finally understood her question.

"Besides my brother, his wife and my nephew?" he asked with a hint of amusement. "No. I'm not married, if that's what you're asking."

Joss smiled in return, her eyes taking in his broad shoulders, flat abdomen and trim waist. He obviously took pride in his appearance. And with good reason.

"Well, how fortuitous," she said softly. His smile softened and so did her insides. In fact her insides were melting like snow on a hot day.

"And you, my lady? Are you married?"

Married? Did no one in Ferelden recognize mage robes when they saw them? Not that marriage was forbidden. Merely frowned upon. Well, frowned upon and made nearly impossible because of the sheer volume of paperwork involved. And 'my lady' was a nice touch. She hadn't been called a lady in…well…ever, actually.

"No, I'm a mage," she explained. "You know, caster of spells, depraved dancer with demons," she explained with a conspiratorial smile.

"I can think of several reasons why someone would want to marry a mage."

"I'm flattered that you would think of any, Bann Teagan." _And I could probably name another half dozen. _She really hoped she hadn't said that out loud. She listened and didn't hear any outraged gasps. She hadn't been struck down by the Maker. She grinned.

"I have no doubt we could learn much from each other, dear lady. But I'm too bold," he added more loudly, his expression saying otherwise.

"Oh, just bed the man and be done with it," Morrigan hissed in disdain.

Alistair looked scandalized as did the Revered Mother, eyes now shooting _sharp_, poisoned daggers at Joss. Leliana tutted, shaking her head at Morrigan. "You must not say such things in the chantry, Morrigan."

Morrigan scoffed loudly and Joss had to agree with Morrigan on that. If the Maker had such a poor sense of humor, he really wasn't all that mighty a deity, was he?

"I should go and see these two men you spoke of," Joss concluded, smiling again. She resisted the urge to tidy her hair. Too little, too late.

"Good, I was afraid you would wrest all my secrets out of me at once," he said with enough innuendo in his voice to make her stomach flutter but not so much that it raised eyebrows.

"Another time perhaps. I have been told I'm quite good at wresting," she replied softly. Their eyes met and held. A language that Joss was not quite adept at but willing to learn seemed to flow between them. Alistair cleared his throat.

Reluctantly, Joss turned away from the bann and started walking back down the aisle. The young girl crying in her apron was mumbling something about her lost brother. Alistair nudged Joss in the ribs with his elbow. "We should help," he hissed.

Wasn't that what they were doing? She rubbed her sore ribs and asked the girl why she was crying. Her brother was lost, which Joss already knew but before she could ask for details, Leliana gushed, "Oh you poor dear. We'll find your brother." The girl's relieved smile gave way to more tears when Leliana added, "Maker willing."

Joss wondered sourly if a small insect swarm invading Leliana's space would create too much suspicion and decided it probably would. She patted the young girl's arm and extracted the painful story involving a dead mother and a missing brother named Bevin and her name was Kaitlyn and she was so sweet and adorable that Joss felt a bit like she'd eaten too much sugar.

Murdock was asking for a bolt up lightning up his bum with his ungracious acceptance of her help. Before she had time to act on it though, she realized how tired and concerned the man was. This was his town, he was the mayor and the head of the militia, he was no doubt feeling responsible for the loss of men. Joss assured him that Owen would repair the equipment and she would make sure Dwyn the Dwarf would help. His gruff voice softened as he gave her directions to Dwyn's house.

"Take heart, Murdock," she said softly and went in search of Owen.

Three whiskies and a promise to return his daughter safely to his side later, Owen began repairing equipment. Murdock and her companions seemed happy so she trotted off to see Dwyn, staggering just the tiniest bit. No more whiskey, she told herself firmly.

"Money to fight? You have got to be kidding. I am probably way better at casting spells than you are at fighting and I don't charge for it," Joss said in disgust. Dwyn grunted in reply and folded his arms across his chest in a stubborn pose.

"I won't pay you a copper to fight, but I will put in a good word about you with Bann Teagan. If that doesn't do it for you, the other option is that if you fight I won't turn you into a toad," she concluded with a bright smile. He actually resembled a toad now that she actually looked at the man.

"You really ought to work on your people skills," Alistair complained with a grin as Dwyn stormed off to join the militia.

Morrigan was sniggering softly to herself. "Tis a shame he agreed for I know of no such spell, Mage."

Joss looked at Morrigan in wide eyed innocence. "Perhaps none _you've_ learned, Apostate."

The two women glared at each other until Styx finally stepped between them, barking plaintively.

They found Bevin hiding in a closet, probably to get away from all the wailing and teeth gnashing. Joss didn't want to send him back to the chantry, he really was a good lad, but the alternative was not even worth contemplating. She sent him on his way with a promise to help his sister once the undead were taken care of. Then she went up to the tavern to look for more assistance.

Joss gave Lloyd no options. Overweight, slovenly and a bully, he was not someone she actually wanted fighting. She told him that. Probably not as politely as she could have and he balked.

"What're you saying? I can fight, I just don't see the point in getting myself killed."

"Truly, for who would come to your funeral pyre? Certainly not the denizens of the tavern whom you've overcharged for watered down ale for Maker knows how long. Not the waitresses you grope and abuse. Not the Revered Mother whom you've short changed in your tithes. Stay in the cellar, it's the only place that seems appropriate for you."

Lloyd grumbled sourly, pulled off his apron and waddled out of the tavern to go and assist. Leliana shook her head. "I have to agree with Alistair, Josslyn. You could be kinder, yes?"

"Right, sorry. Demon infestations just make me so darned cranky, Leliana."

Berwick, an elf on a mission, was encouraged to go and help after he confessed, with very little pressure applied, to being in the employ of Loghain. He'd been sent to watch for odd things happening at the castle. She thought the demons might qualify and she was beginning to really dislike Loghain Mac Tir.

Ser Perth was a bit of alright; easy on the eyes and easy to talk to, genuinely delighted to have Grey Wardens coming to their aid and he was another who insisted on calling her 'my lady' which just tickled Joss no end. Her smile fumbled a bit when she heard how many soldiers were up at the castle. That was a lot of dead men walking to contend with.

"I'm sorry, you want holy symbols to help ward against the evil?" she asked once her brain and ears had reconnected. "I'll see what I can do," she added doubtfully.

The only thing she enjoyed less than talking with demons was talking with a Revered Mother. They were, in her book, two sides of the same coin. Mother Hannah was old and weathered and trying her best to comfort those around her. She put up an argument about the symbols but Joss was adamant and probably not very polite.

"Why would the Maker actually care whether they needed a bit of bolstering? And come to think of it, if the Maker has truly turned away from us, how would he even know?"

"People skills," Alistair sang out.

Leliana decided it was just wrong to give the men false courage stating that they should be relying on their faith. Joss, who was actually beginning to like the spunky lay sister, frowned at that hypocrisy. She reached over and fingered Leliana's amulet with its depiction of Andraste's undying flame etched into it.

"Don't make me say it," Joss warned with a grin.

Leliana backed off sheepishly and offered to carry the amulets up the hill and deliver them to Ser Perth. As Josslyn's feet were in purgatory, she gladly sent the woman off.

Nightfall was rapidly approaching and Joss was mulling over possible strategies. Not that she had really studied the art of war. That was not something mages were encouraged to study, but she had little choice and she knew she was not going to use the Ostagar Strategy.

"Listen up! Morrigan, I'm going to set some grease traps. When the corpses hit them, throw your best fireball into them. Alistair and Styx, gather up the strays and shepherd them to the knights. Beat the living…er…beat them down and we'll use spells as we can. Leliana and Berwick, stay back and use your bows. The less people in the mix, the less we have to worry about hitting you with a spell."

Of course nothing went quite as planned. Several of the burning undead dead went staggering off down the hill and Styx lost some of his wonderful fur trying to round them up. Neither Joss nor Morrigan had many healing spells between them and their mana was running low as they ran down to help the militia in the village square. Who knew that corpses in mail could actually swim? Or maybe they were walking along the bottom of the lake? Taking rowboats? Their numbers were annoying and because they were fighting in such close quarters the mages couldn't cast any large spells for fear of killing the militia. The battle raged for hours and Joss was more than exhausted by the time they finally finished off the last of the walking corpses.

It was a very long night but by the time dawn arrived, they realized there were injuries among the townfolk but no deaths. Teagan was effusive in his thanks, so much so that Josslyn was actually a bit embarrassed and he offered her, as a reward, a shiny plate helmet. Something every mage could use. Or not. She handed it to Alistair and thanked Teagan with a smile that drooped with fatigue.

"Now, while there's time, meet me at the windmill," he said. Josslyn's mind immediately turned to fantasizing about why he'd want to meet there. She was more than willing. After a bath and a meal. She smelled like rotting garbage. Or rotting corpses. And she wanted that smudge of cheese off her left breast.

Teagan was gracious and kind, as any good hero would be. An hour later, cleaned and wearing her newly washed and dried robe (fire spells used with care were amazingly good for drying laundry), Josslyn and her crew walked up the hill to meet Teagan at the windmill.

Sadly, not for the reasons Joss would like.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** _In case I didn't mention this before, there will be a minimum of in-game dialogue. It may make sense for a younger or more naïve warden but given Josslyn's background it would seem strange. Also, this will continue to be slightly AU. Finally, my idea of the Fade is more in keeping with TST than the game. Fair warning. _

**The Demon Wears Nada**

If pain was a sound it would be Isolde Guerrin's voice. Or perhaps it was that her shrill voice _caused_ pain. Either way, Joss had to silence Isolde before her ears started bleeding. Styx was growling deep and low, ready to spring at Isolde's throat. Joss was tempted to do the same if it would quiet the woman.

It amazed her, and not in a good way, that the entire village had been decimated, that she and her group of companions were bedraggled and exhausted, and Isolde wore a fashionable silk gown and had not a hair out of place. Hello? Reality check needed.

"I'm sorry, but sending Teagan alone to the castle without knowing what's really going on is a bit like sending a soldier to deliver a baby. Neither action is wise and neither will end well." Oh Joss, nice tone of voice. Rational, cool, wise. So unlike herself. She wondered if anyone would notice if she patted herself on the back.

Isolde turned her haughty stare on Josslyn, as if to make Joss shrink back into submission. "Teagan, who is this woman?" Isolde asked, drawing out each vowel in a way that reminded Joss of a taffy pull they'd once had in the kitchens back at the tower.

Alistair, to Josslyn's surprise, spoke up; his voice an odd mixture of resentment and subservience. "You remember me, Lady Isolde. Alistair. The stables? We need to know what's going on. We thought everyone inside the castle was dead."

Isolde looked as though she'd swallowed sour milk when she saw him. She explained, without really explaining anything, why she needed Teagan to accompany her. Joss knew she was lying and she was fairly certain that Isolde knew she knew she was lying but it didn't deter the arlessa from continuing on with her fairy tale. Joss listened carefully, caught Isolde's sly look as the woman begged them to understand how distraught she was. Not so distraught she wasn't perfectly groomed. _Here, the castle is under attack, let me just change into a clean gown and oh, fetch a maid to do my hair, there's a nice demon. _

"The mage I hired for Connor poisoned Eamon. How could he do such a thing, _Teaaagaaaan_?"

In Josslyn's experience there was only one reason to hire a non-circle mage as a tutor, and that was to hide a mage in the family. Those with little or no money had no choice but to turn over their mage children or risk retribution from the almighty chantry or they risked the wrath and paranoia of their neighbors. But for those with money and connections, there was always a way.

One of the reasons Josslyn had little use for most nobles was because of those she'd encountered in the tower. They came, after donating heavily to the chantry, to find suitable tutors for their precious children, who could not possibly mix with the common ruffians who attended the local chantry schools. No, no, they must have someone special to teach their illustrious heirs without contaminating their pure blood by having them sit next to Farmer Joe's little urchin.

For a hefty donation to the already overflowing coffers of the church the nobles came to the tower and found a private tutor from among the newly harrowed mages. Usually it was a noble_man_ who came and usually it was a young female mage who was chosen. Joss once confronted Irving about it and Irving just shook his shaggy grey head and shrugged his useless shoulders. What was he to do?

Isolde was a very different kettle of fish. A poor choice of words, considering the smell emanating from the fishery in Redcliffe village. Barrels and barrels of salted fish that made Joss's stomach lurch. Isolde had hired an apostate to tutor the Guerrin heir. That was a very odd thing to do unless Connor was a mage. The woman was a liar and worse. She had damned the entire village through her dishonesty and arrogance. Joss was all for singeing the perfectly coifed chignon on Isolde's head. She only restrained herself when she felt Teagan's hand on her arm.

Teagan pulled Joss to the side and his voice, a warm whisper of admiration and strength, caused tingles in places that were not appropriate places to have them, given the seriousness of their situation. _Oh, for want of a linen closet and ten uninterrupted minutes. _"I have no illusions that I'll be able to do more than distract whatever _thing_ is present. You, on the other hand, have proven to be quite formidable," he said softly and the admiration was a caress that did nothing to diminish the tingling sensation.

Was it wrong of Joss to preen just ever so much? Probably and she really oughtn't to. There were things to do, places to go and demons to see. She licked her lips and finally found her missing voice.

"If the dead are waking up and going on walkabout this isn't the work of a mage, but a demon. Someone up there is possessed by a demon and they became that way by making a deal with said demon. Between that and the mage who poisoned the arl, I'm fairly confident that going up there on your own is remarkably brave and so _not _a good idea."

"This is my family, Lady Josslyn, would you rather I ignore the problem?" he asked, and it was the first time Joss had heard steel in his voice. So much for his admiration, she thought sadly, but kept her smile in place.

"I realize you've little to no choice, but be careful. If you've never been ensorcelled by a demon it can be more than a little unnerving and totally embarrassing," Joss warned.

"You know a great deal about demons. Dare I ask how?" Teagan asked and his smile had reasserted itself which made Josslyn's come out to play.

"A story for a later time. We'll go through the dungeon and make our way into the castle. Please just tell me there are no creepy crawly critters along the way."

Teagan threw his head back, laughing. "My lady, it is a dungeon. Surely someone who fought so fiercely against the waking dead isn't afraid of the odd rat or spider?" he asked with a twinkle burning merrily in his eye.

"Hello? Castle? Demons? Shouldn't we get a move on?" Alistair asked, apparently displeased at the lack of grim breast-beating going on between Joss and Teagan.

"Right you are, Alistair. I'll go along with Isolde and try to keep this demon amused while you make your way inside. Be safe," he said, taking her hand in his and bestowing a soft brush of lips against her knuckles. _Hello, closet, where are you when needed? _She uncurled her toes and moved to the entrance of the windmill.

Ten minutes later, Josslyn was circling around herself, trying to wipe the last of the cobwebs off her. A gesture as futile as trying to dry herself off while standing in the rain. She shuddered as another cobweb floated down and settled on her shoulders like a lover's hand. Alistair reached over and brushed it off.

"Girl," he muttered. Joss flashed him a grin.

"Kind of you to notice," she replied. He blushed. Her grin grew in size.

It was the last grin she flashed for awhile. She blamed Jowan, who was standing in a dank cell that smelled of stale bodies and salted fish. He was wearing a torn robe and a multitude of bruises.

"Andraste's hind tit! What are you doing in there?" Joss exclaimed more shocked than angry. He should never have been able to survive outside the circle. He was, in her estimation, too stupid to do so, too stupid to be made a Tranquil. He did not prove her wrong when his story came tumbling out of his mouth.

"So Loghain sent you to poison this Arl Eamon fellow and you didn't stop to question why? Hardly surprising from someone stupid enough to fall for an initiate. And Lily of all people? Not only are you stupid, you have absolutely not taste at all."

"Thank you, Joss. I'd forgotten how warm and compassionate you are," Jowan mumbled irately. Was it possible to whine and mumble at the same time? Apparently so.

"So Connor is a mage, I'm guessing? Mama threw piles of sovereigns at a mage to teach him in secret? I think I found someone worthy of you, Jowan. Stupid is as stupid does," she finished.

Naturally Alistair, the boy templar, was appalled that Jowan was a blood mage and Connor was a budding mage. He wasn't sure what to do with Jowan. Sister Rows with one Oar thought they should free him because nobody deserved to die. Joss had a list of people she considered fair game for death.

"Sure, easy to be all charitable and forgiving until the blood mage uses _your _blood, Leliana," Joss reminded her. Leliana turned pale and took a large step away from the cell.

Morrigan stared at the man through narrowed golden eyes, assessing him. Apparently she found him wanting as she sniffed disdainfully. "'Twould seem you are correct, Josslyn."

Joss didn't know whether to crow or cry at that. She decided on neither. "Get out of the cell and come with us," she instructed Jowan with what she hoped was an intimidating scowl. Really, she wasn't cut out for this kind of life. She wanted her soft slippers and a feather bed, damn it.

"What? Take a blood mage? Are you sure that's wise?" Alistair asked, his voice turning slightly squeaky at the end. She patted his shoulder.

"Cheer up, if anything bad happens you can just shove your sword up his…well you'll think of somewhere," she reassured , glaring at Jowan who moved back in his cell, hiding in the shadows. _As if I don't know he's there? _

Impatiently, Joss looked at Leliana. "Pick the lock since Jowan seems to have forgotten how to cast a spell."

"Can't I just stay here and wait until this is all over?" Jowan whined. So much for his 'Oh let me atone' nonsense he'd babbled on about.

"Ribbet," Joss croaked in her best imitation of a toad. Jowan scrambled out of the cell.

"You really know a toad spell?" Alistair asked, voice painted in fear and trimmed with awe.

"And Jowan, if you spill one drop of blood to power a spell, I will make you look like a roasted pig, got it?"

"With or without the apple?" Morrigan asked, acerbic and seemingly quite serious. Alistair snickered. Leliana gasped, but Joss was fairly sure it was to cover a laugh.

Rolling her eyes, Joss led them through the castle to fight yet more walking dead. The trip did nothing to amend her earlier assessment of Isolde and the nobility. The poor townsfolk were barely scraping by and yet even the castle _basement _was opulent. And apparently there had, at one time, been a rather large staff of servants and soldiers because the walking dead were in every room. She didn't quite understand why they were in the kitchens. It wasn't as if they actually ate or anything. Or knew how to cook for that matter. The more people she killed, the angrier she became with Isolde. And Jowan. Poor hard working people hadn't done anything to deserve dying not once, but twice. And in one rather frightening case, three times before he finally stayed dead.

At last they made their way into the courtyard to meet up with Ser Perth and his fellow knights. They also met up with a Revenant, which only confirmed that a demon was at work. Poor Alistair took the worst of the damage from the Revenant as everyone else stood back. They were elegantly ugly, Revenants, and powerful hitters. Created by and possessed by demons. Determined demons, at that.

Joss winced as Alistair took a particularly nasty hit on the head. She stopped casting her misdirection hex midway through and shot her only healing spell at Alistair before continuing her hex. There was something immensely satisfying about seeing an enemy missing with every swing of his weapon. She was still snickering when the last of the walking dead were once again dead.

"Shall we enter the castle now, my lady?" Ser Perth asked with a formal bow.

Even after fighting all night and half the morning, Ser Perth still looked adorable. His armor was still polished, his eyes still warm and sweet. A true knight in every sense of the word, Joss thought with approval. Just like those romance novels she confiscated from the young apprentices.

She debated telling him what he could expect if a demon possession was responsible for all the trouble but decided he was better off experiencing it instead. "Yes, Ser Perth, let's do that."

The knight extended his arm and she took it, feeling regal and like a true princess. Until she tripped over Styx, who was sniggering. She nearly pulled Ser Perth down on top of her and while she wouldn't have minded, she felt sure he would have been mortified.

"Stupid robe," she muttered as he helped her up. What she really meant was "stupid dog" but she was too busy straightening her robes and picking her staff up off the ground.

'Marmalade' Guerrin was putting on a lovely show when they entered. Joss couldn't help but admire his moves and the agility with which he performed those moves. If he ever remembered how he cavorted, he would no doubt be horribly embarrassed. Joss bit back her laughter. Demons were serious business. Seriously.

Isolde stood next to a young man. Her shoulders were slumped and she finally had a smudge on her and a wisp or two of hair falling out of its tidy little bun. The young boy looked to be about twelve and that told her instantly that the demon at work in Redcliffe Castle was a Desire Demon. They were every boy's fantasy as they wore practically nothing and if you could ignore their horns and hooves, they were quite attractive. Desire Demons preyed on young boys nearing puberty and templars, both for a reason, they were easy targets for nearly naked nubile young semi-women demon types.

Joss felt a stab of pity for the young boy who had probably not intended for all the commotion. He'd wanted something, obviously, and as an untrained mage, had no doubt allowed a demon into his dreams. The question was, could they free him of the demon and still leave him intact? She rubbed a hand across her forehead.

"Let's just get down to it, Demon. You want to stay, I want you to go. The question is which of us is stronger."

"I have an army at my side, you've a few dimwits. I think the answer is clear," the young boy scoffed in a voice that echoed his every word several octaves lower.

After insulting his mother, his uncle, the assembled group and especially Joss, he finally yelled, "I crave excitement," and with a flip of his fingers, the prancing Teagan pulled out his sword, adjusted his shield and came at Joss with a menacing growl.

"Maker's nuts!" Joss exclaimed and felt the magic of three mages sweeten the air in heady swirls around the room as they fought off the guards.

"I'm sorry, Teagan," she whispered, truly regretful, and slammed into his chest with a stone fist. He went down with a wide-eyed wonder that seemed faintly accusing as well.

In only moments everyone was subdued and Isolde was running to Teagan to help him stand. Oh sure, _now_ she was concerned, Joss thought in disgust. She hit Isolde with just enough lightning to send her scuttling back in surprise but not so strong that she might actually think someone had cast a spell at her. Joss reached down and helped Teagan to his feet.

"Sorry about that," she said, sending a small wisp of rejuvenation into him as she straightened his doublet.

"No, no. It's not every day a beautiful woman throws me to the ground."

"Teagan, I am sorry. If anything had happened to you I don't know…" Isolde began and he waved her off.

For the first time since Joss had met him, Teagan looked more than a bit miffed. He glared at Isolde, one eyebrow curled up in disgust. "You're sorry? Look what you've done, Isolde. Look at all the people you've hurt."

Hurt? The woman was a mass murderer in Josslyn's mind. She wisely held her tongue and let Teagan's words slam into Isolde much the way Joss's stone fist had slammed into Teagan. The woman became paler and paler with each accusation.

"It's his fault!" she finally shrieked, pointing at Jowan. Joss was fairly sure her ears were now bleeding from the volume, not to mention the piercing timbre, of the woman's voice.

"Forget whose fault it is, people. There's a boy who is possessed by a powerful demon. The longer he remains that way, the less chance we have of doing anything about it other than killing him," Joss finally broke in. "We can assign fault later. Let's figure out if we can send me into the Fade first, eh?"

A discussion ensued about how they could do it. When Jowan offered to use blood magic, Joss ended the discussion. "You so much as twitch and I'll send you into the Fade permanently," she told him grimly. "You and Morrigan should be able to send me into the Fade easily enough, if I can get my hands on some lyrium."

"You mean Connor can be saved? Oh thank the Maker."

"Not without a shi…a sizeable amount of lyrium. I'm hoping that the chantry has a supply. Not that they'll just hand it over if I ask. But it's worth a try."

"Oh! I can do that for you, Joss. I think Mother Hannah and I have a few friends in common. She will be more willing to give it to me, yes?" Leliana chirped, her bee-stung lips curving into a smile.

"Probably so. For some reason Revered Mothers and I don't get along very well."

In unison, Leliana and Alistair chimed in, "People skills!" and laughed.

While they waited for Leliana to return, Teagan came and sat beside Joss as she taught Jowan and Morrigan the necessary spell to help her find the raw Fade. The spell was in Arcanum, lyrical and potent. And very old. Joss loved the way the words twisted and tickled her tongue. Most of the other mages in the tower thought she was crazy. She thought they were lazy. It all evened out.

"Is this dangerous for you?" Teagan asked, his breath warm on her cheek as he sat beside her. His eyes showed he genuinely cared for her safety. What a sweetheart. Should she lie? Probably. He didn't seem to need any more bad news. He looked tired and pale and she felt badly for him

"Oh no," she responded, breezy and flip. "I do this all the time." Well it wasn't really a lie, she did go into the Fade often. Or at least more often than most mages.

An hour later, Leliana returned with lyrium potions and some lyrium powder. Bless the chantry for addicting its templars to lyrium. "Alistair, you have enough training to know if this doesn't work, right?"

Alistair blanched and she could see him gulping, his Adam's apple bobbing like a fishing lure she'd seen out on the lake earlier. "Y-yes. But please don't let it not work," he pleaded hoarsely. Once Joss figured out what he meant, she gave him a reassuring smile.

"I really have done this several times. It should be fine. But if it isn't, don't hesitate. It will be a mercy."

Taking a deep breath, she dipped into the lyrium and felt the sweet scream of it in her blood, fueling her, and she began to chant, her voice joining Jowan's and Morrigan's. And then with a sigh, she entered the fade. She hoped she hadn't bruised her hip when she fell. She really ought to just lay down to begin with.

The raw Fade was wrinkled and brown and ugly. She passed through it and into Connor's little area of the Fade, a perfect replica of Castle Redcliffe, complete with Arl Eamon, who was a bit hysterical, which is no mean feat for a man in a coma. She tried to calm him down so he would stop shouting. She met with limited success and so she continued on until she found the Desire Demon, hiding in a rose garden. Joss made a mental note to find the real rose garden when she got back, it looked very nice.

As she had expected, she looked at the nearly nude Desire Demon and allowed herself to scold the creature. "Picking on a young man's budding fantasies by wearing nothing but nipple clamps? Really, is that the best you Desire Demons can do? And why aren't there any scantily clad men for us women?"

"Come, isn't there something you'd like, Josslyn? Your comfortable room back at the circle?" the demon asked. The rose garden transformed into her small room in the tower, complete with her private bath. Joss sighed and shook her head.

"Come on, bitch, you can do better than that," Joss tutted.

"Perhaps a visit with Joseph?" the nude demon with the long curling horns asked, her sharp features changing subtlety until Josslyn was staring at her brother's face. The familiar hazel eyes, so much like her own, were wide and frightened.

"Jossy, come find me, I'm scared," he said plaintively. Joss shut her eyes for a minute, steadying herself, closing her mind to the memories.

"This old trick? Really? How unoriginal of you. My brother is dead, demon. Even you don't have the power to bring him back," Joss taunted and began casting her most powerful fireball. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes against the look of horror on her dead brother's face and hit the bitch between the eyes with the fireball.

The demon howled, outraged, and stumbled back. The first jolt of the demon's lightning spell turned Josslyn's arm into living, dancing fire and Joss returned the favor with a massive block of ice.

"I can give you anything you want, Josslyn. Why do you fight it?" the demon asked and once more her form changed. Teagan Guerrin, complete with charming smile and nut brown goatee, stood before her. Dressed. That was the fatal mistake. If she could run around nearly naked for Connor, the least she could do is change into a nude Teagan. Ignorant, lazy demon hadn't done her homework.

Joss smiled, pulling all of her magic into a tight circle around her until it formed a large glowing orb. She sent it hurtling towards the demon. It hit the demon mid chest, ripping one breast away. Joss snickered.

"You really ought to wear some armor, hag," Joss chortled, already tapping into her dwindling mana supply for another fireball. It caught the demon in the stomach and with a shrill hiss, the demon died.

Joss woke with a start. "I'm fine, I'm fine. Don't kill me, Alistair," she said quickly, rubbing her head. It wasn't her hip she'd bruised, it was the side of her noggin. And not a decent healer among them. She sat up, woozy and queasy. Teagan leaned down to help her stand.

She promptly threw up all over his glossy brown leather boots.


	5. Chapter 5

**Sleepless in Redcliffe**

There were some things you just didn't do in polite company. Josslyn guessed that throwing up on your host's boots was probably on the list. If it wasn't on the list, it ought to be added. Teagan was utterly charming and unruffled by the episode, brushing aside her apology. Josslyn was shown upstairs to a beautifully appointed room and provided with warm water. Someone had thoughtfully and unobtrusively brought her pack to her room and even laid out her tower-issued blocky white under garments. Nothing said sexy like institutional underwear. She really needed to find a store and buy some new ones. Not that she was expecting to actually show them to anyone.

She avoided the mirror as she slipped into her only clean garments; a pale green skirt and cream linen shirt. Hardly worthy of her plush surroundings and fancy nobles but it would do. She pulled her hair back and slipped the small silverite combs into place; the only legacy of the Amell family that she owned. Not that she was particularly sentimental about such things; it just struck her as sad that the only things left of the Dragon Peak Amells were a pair of plain silverite combs.

On the way downstairs, she stumbled, literally, into Leliana. The woman's face bore the marks of guilt in the little twitch around the mouth, the blue eyes that were opened far too wide. Or maybe she believed that old wife's tale that claimed if you opened your eyes wide several times a day you wouldn't get wrinkles around your eyes. Obviously it wasn't working for Leliana if that was her intent. The fine lines were there. Joss wasn't sure if it spoke of a hard life or age. She couldn't imagine Leliana's life was terribly hard as a lay sister unless she had taken that title as a challenge.

"Leliana, why are you skulking around the castle?" Joss finally asked and Leliana's mouth opened in a perfect imitation of the letter 'O' before snapping shut.

"I would avoid the Revered Mother. She may not be happy at the moment, yes?"

"Oh? Now why would Mother Hannah not be happy at the mom...oh Leliana, tell me you didn't just take the lyrium?" Joss said and chuckled at the image of a very irate old lady running after Leliana with a broom, calling down the wrath of the Maker.

Leliana looked only slightly repentant; a child caught stealing her favorite sweetmeat. Enjoying the cake more than made up for any punishment.

"Listen, Sister Sticky Fingers, we don't need the chantry breathing down our necks over lyrium theft. Or, you know…" Joss trailed off, no longer able to contain her laughter. Poor Prune Face Mother Hannah was probably spitting mad about now. "Well, I suppose if you have to rob from someone, the chantry is wealthy enough to bear it."

Leliana sighed, her sweet voice still only slightly repentant. "I knew how urgent the matter was and she was busy with her parishioners. What was I to do?"

Wiping tears from her eyes, Joss nodded. "Exactly. And she won't miss it until her templars come around for their daily dosage and then they are going to be very unhappy."

An hour later found her standing on Redcliffe's long pier with Teagan. Josslyn watched as the boats carried the dead out on the gentle currents of Lake Calenhad like a mother rocking her child, before the flaming arrows set the vessels on fire. It was beautiful and mournful. Beside her, Teagan's face was grave and weary. She whispered a soft spell that wound around him, easing the tight lines around his eyes.

Behind her, Isolde was weeping copious tears that seemed to glitter like paste jewelry on her cheeks when Joss looked over her shoulder at the woman. Joss had been appalled when Isolde had wanted to bring Conner with her to witness the funerals. Teagan had been equally appalled but it wasn't until Joss told the older woman that Conner needed peace and quiet to recover lest a stronger demon take advantage of his state. It wasn't a lie. Exactly. She'd read such things were _theoretically_ possible.

It occurred to her, as she stood in the bright sunshine, why there were so many '_No Swimming in Lake Calenha_d' signs posted along the shoreline in Redcliffe. And she would probably never eat fish, salted or otherwise, again. What if the boat caught fire and sank before the body was reduced to ashes? Did people know how hot a fire had to be to actually incinerate a body? She shuddered at the thought and only by clasping her hands tightly in front of her did she not cast a hefty fireball at each boat just to make there were only ashes left.

"Dear lady, I didn't even think how tired you must be, how difficult this must be for you. You've witnessed too much death in recent weeks," Teagan murmured apologetically.

Joss squirmed under the sudden weight of guilt. She couldn't really tell him what she was thinking. She couldn't very well explain that she would never ever _ever_ swim in the waters off Redcliffe. She couldn't imagine how many…no, it didn't bear thinking about. She shuddered again. And her guilt increased as Teagan laid a gentle hand on her arm, squeezing lightly. Maker, did he have to be so damned gorgeous and so damned noble? She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile and not a lusty grin.

Of course she was also still mightily embarrassed about destroying his lovely polished brown boots. He was wearing an equally polished pair of black boots now and she was determined not to ruin them as well. _Best not think of what lies beneath the water of Lake Calenhad then._ She watched as the last boat was launched on its way to meet a fiery demise. At least she hoped it was a fiery demise. Stop thinking about dead bodies in the lake, she admonished herself and then turned away to start up the hill to the castle. Glancing down at the wrecked village and then back up at the castle, she finally understood where the term 'lording it over a person' came from. High on a hill and surrounded by walls, a gate and water, Redcliffe Castle had come out of the war against the rampaging dead unscathed. It confirmed Josslyn's opinion of nobles. Teagan seemed the exception, not the norm.

The sun was intent on dropping behind the hills in the west and long shadows began to come out and play tag with one another. Teagan kept a firm grip on her elbow. Why was he the exception? Had he been raised by someone else? He had the nobility of a knight without that overly devout nature. There was a hint of playfulness in him that knights, in her limited experience, seemed to lack. A puzzle, an enigma. And one that probably didn't matter much, in the grand scheme of her chaotic, and now greatly shortened, life.

As soon as she entered the castle, Isolde demanded that Jowan be locked back up in the dungeons to either rot or await Arl Eamon's sentence. Josslyn counted to ten, trying to curb her desire to set the woman's hair on fire. When that didn't work, she counted to twenty, wracking her brains for a way to keep Jowan out of the moldering cell. There as something that tickled at the back of her brain like a feather teasing at her skin. What was it?

Alistair, wandering in from the kitchens with a hunk of bread in one hand and an even bigger hunk of cheese in the other, stopped on the threshold of the great room, watching the scene, a look of panicked curiosity on his face. Ah ha! That's what it was! Joss grinned triumphantly at the older, shriller woman.

"I'm sorry, Arlessa Isolde, but I am invoking the Rite of Subscription on Jowan," Joss said with enough glee in her voice to border on obnoxious.

Or maybe she crossed the border. Alistair, who was making his way to them, let out his breath in a loud sound of disbelief. As his mouth was full of cheese when he did so, naturally a piece chose to land in Josslyn's hair. She wondered if anyone would notice if she turned Alistair into a mouse. It seemed appropriate for him, given his love of cheese.

She reached out and plucked the offending bit from her hair and turned on him. She noticed then that he wasn't disbelieving, he was laughing. "Andraste's flaming hair, what is so funny?" she hissed at him.

"Rite of subscription?" he asked, going off in a fresh paroxysm of laughter. She clenched her hands. Not a mouse, a big braying ass perhaps?

"Okay, Warden extraordinaire, what is it called when I take someone over someone else's objections?"

"Conscription. The Right of Conscription," he said with a snort, trying his best to hold back further laughter. She hit him with a breath of cold air. Just a mild, cold wave of air. He immediately stopped laughing and glared at her.

"You are a mean, mean woman," he complained, shivering. Joss smiled.

"I hereby invoke the Right of Conscription on Jowan."

"You can't! He is responsible for everything that's happened!" Isolde shrieked.

Josslyn was glad she wasn't holding a crystal goblet in her hand. She felt fairly certain it would have shattered at the high pitch. "I disagree, Arlessa Isolde. Truth to tell, you are the one most responsible for this debacle. Had you not tried to hide your son's talents, Jowan could not have infiltrated the castle and poisoned Arl Eamon. Had the arl not been poisoned, Connor would not have made a deal with a Desire Demon," Josslyn countered.

Isolde opened her mouth to shriek something else and Josslyn waved her into silence. "Even if you hate the idea you have no authority to prevent it. Am I right?" Josslyn asked, turning to look at Alistair.

"Right. Not that I'm in favor of bringing along a blood mage," Alistair replied with a hint of backbone.

"No, but I don't suppose the darkspawn care much about that," Joss retorted and turned to look at Teagan, whose lips were twitching just a bit.

"I'll tell them to make up another guest room," Teagan said around his amusement. Isolde was not amused by his amusement. Joss was. She considered it a win-win situation.

"How are we going to perform the Joining? We don't know how!" Alistair hissed loudly.

"We'll figure it out. Maybe Irving knows or maybe there are some records in the Denerim compound. Or maybe now you'll see the wisdom of sending one of us to Orlais for a few seasoned Grey Wardens?"

Jowan was seriously underwhelmed by the idea when she told him a few minutes later. "I deserve the Rite of Tranquility or death. I really made a hash out of this," he mumbled, standing in his cell. The door was unlocked and open.

"Is that penitence or cowardice?" Joss asked. "Because you spoke of a need to atone for your mistakes. Not going to happen if you're a drooling sop or, you know, beheaded," Joss reminded him sourly. She reached into the cell and grabbed Jowan's robe, pulling him out of the cell.

"Go clean up and quit hiding, Jowan. You can help save Ferelden this way. Think of the statues that will go up in your honor. Especially if you die!" Joss said cheerfully.

Making her way upstairs to Connor's room, she tapped lightly on the door. Connor, looking subdued and nervous opened the door and let her in. She sat down in the only chair in his room and smiled at him. "You know, Connor, you have a rare and wonderful gift. But just like you have to learn how to properly ride a horse, you have to learn how to properly use magic. The tower is full of young apprentices around your age. They have a great deal of fun together as they learn to wield magic correctly."

"Will I ever remember what happened?" he asked timidly.

Joss frowned at that. "You don't remember or you choose to put it out of your mind?" she asked quietly. "It's alright if you don't want to remember it, Connor. I know it was frightening in some ways, but also pretty impressive that you were strong enough to keep from letting her completely in," Joss finished in admiration.

"Really?" Connor asked, eyes wide and questioning. He was looking for approval. No doubt his mother had made him feel like a freak of nature for possessing magical abilities. Poor guy. Joss had seen too many such children in the tower.

"Really, really," Joss agreed with a grin. "I'll tell First Enchanter Irving about you and see if we can't let your uncle bring you to the circle for training once this Blight business is over."

Leaving Connor looking slightly less timid and scared, Joss went next to check on Arl Eamon's condition. He was grey and already his muscles were atrophying. She touched his head and let a ripple of magic through the Veil and into his body. He was dying slowly, not by the poison but by the coma it had induced. Without being able to eat or move his body, he was slowly wasting away. A Spirit Healer might be able to do more. Someone with knowledge of poisons might help too.

"The Urn of Sacred Ashes will cure him," Isolde said, coming to stand beside Joss. Teagan entered the room right behind her.

Joss bit back a snide retort. If ashes were the cure, scoop up some of those from the pile of dead villagers. There was nothing sacred about ashes. They were oily and sooty. They weren't holy. "I'll be traveling to the Circle of Magi from here. I'll send a spirit healer back to look after him. I'm not sure the ashes of a dead woman are really going to be all that beneficial," she replied dryly.

"No, no. Brother Genitivi has been researching the miracle of these sacred ashes. They will work and he has been searching for them for some time. He claims to be close to discovering them."

Joss mentally rolled her eyes. Cures through holy relics were generally a question of mind over matter. If you believed dancing naked in the dark would cure your bunions it would because you believed it would. She didn't bother telling Isolde that. Pious people made Josslyn's head throb. You couldn't tell a zealot anything even resembling the truth unless it was _their _truth.

Teagan, looking slightly apologetic spoke up quietly. "I don't have the same faith as Isolde in this matter, but we have tried healers and alchemists. Nothing else has worked. We need him if we are to end the civil war and stop Loghain. Without accomplishing those two things there won't be a way to stop the Blight from spreading across the whole of Ferelden."

Well, put that way, Joss had no alternative. She nodded. "Hopefully it won't take long to find him because somehow I have to convince a bunch of people who don't like us very well to help us. Nothing could be easier."

* * *

It was late. After a wonderful meal that was thankfully free of fish, Josslyn made her way up to her richly appointed room. There was more silk in her curtains than in the whole of the tower. It was decadent and, considering how she felt about nobles, Joss should be disgusted and embarrassed by the ostentatious display. She wasn't; mostly she was delighted in having a comfortable bed and no furry critters keeping her company in it.

Her mind was whirling away, refusing to allow her to actually enjoy the bed. There were armies to gather and people to find and now she had two apostates traveling with her and that would make the fighting easier but they would have to be very wary of templars. And the idea of scouring the countryside for clues on the illusive pot of ashes didn't thrill her. She had decided they would take one more day of rest in Redcliffe before heading out because she wanted to talk strategy with Ser Perth and Teagan before leaving. Or so she told herself.

Finally, having tossed and turned her way right out of bed, she slipped into her clothes and went in search of the rose garden she had seen in the Fade. The air was cool and breathless, the moon sailing with quiet calm in the sea of night. The roses were neatly trimmed and perfuming the air in the small, walled off garden. She sighed. There was something about the smell of roses that soothed her, that reminded her of something warm and comforting but she couldn't remember what. Nothing in the tower, that was for sure. She could only surmise it had to do with her childhood but as she had come to the tower at the age of four, she had no idea what it had to do with her childhood.

She bent down to inhale the lush musky sweet fragrance of a rose, lightly grasping the stem and mindful of the thorns. _Nothing beautiful comes without a price_. Where had she heard that before?

"Good evening, dear lady. I wasn't expecting to find such a lovely rose here this evening."

"Maker's holy ass!" Joss exclaimed, jerking her now bleeding finger from the rose's stem, frightened by the sudden appearance of somene else.

Teagan's laugh was soft and he stepped close, taking her hand in his and gently wiping away the blood with the pad of his thumb. Joss swallowed hard and tried to pull her hand out of his, but not very hard.

"I beg your forgiveness for startling you but I was unable to stop myself, seeing you standing out here," he said by way of aplogy. Nicely done, Joss thought. Very nicely done.

"You are lovely, but I suppose you've been told that often enough it doesn't hold much sway over you, my lady. Shall I find something more than mere words to express how lovely I find you?" he continued smoothly, his voice wrapping around her like a velvet cloak.

Joss did step back then, feeling awkward and unaccountably shy. Which irked her. A great deal. She had never been shy before, she had never felt awkward before. Well, that last part wasn't true. She'd felt awkward plenty of times, but not usually around men. Usually when she tried dancing. A dance partner had once claimed she had two left feet. Tied together. Sadly, it was so.

"As you have no doubt been told on more than one occasion that you are as charming as you are handsome," she replied, her voice a lot less squeaky than she'd feared it might be. He was still absently running the pad of his thumb along her finger.

"Thank you, lovely lady, for all that you have done for Redcliffe. And for me."

_Oh but there's so much more I would love to do for you, to you, with you_. Joss hoped she'd kept those thoughts just that. She looked up at him then, met his eyes and answered his smile with one of her own. "You have already thanked me, Bann Teagan. There is no need to do so again."

"There is every need, Josslyn," he murmured softly and she bent nearer to hear his words. A trick she herself had used on numerous occasions. "You have my gratitude and my deepest admiration."

Josslyn leaned closer, whispering into his ear, "You are far kinder than I deserve."

She heard the slight intake of Teagan's breath as her words brushed against his skin. His thumb stopped caressing her finger as he brought her hand to his lips and kissed the knuckles with deliberate slowness. He was good. Very, very good, Joss thought as her body responded ridiculously quickly to his touch and voice.

"This need you have to touch. 'Tis not natural," Morrigan said, shifting out of bird form to stand before them.

Joss sprang back from Teagan like a guilty lover, which she wasn't yet and not likely to be now. The mood was completely destroyed by Morrigan's untimely and somewhat creepy appearance, damn her.

"No, Morri, your breasts not falling out of your top is unnatural. Human contact is natural and necessary. That you see it otherwise explains a lot about you," Joss said and sailed regally into the castle, head held high, only tripping once on her own foot.

Sleep did not come to her that night as she lay awake for want of Teagan.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N**_: I know that Joss was supposed to be at the Circle in this chapter but the cheeky thing insisted on more Teagan time. Smut ahoy! Special thanks to Nithu for her wonderful insights into Jowan. Her story "Forgiven" is not to be missed.  
My thanks to all of you who are lurking, reading and reviewing. It's wonderful to have such support for Josslyn._

**Blinded By the Light**

Josslyn awoke to a woman setting a laden tray down on a small writing desk. A single, perfect lavender rose in a bud vase took center stage and Joss waited impatiently for the servant to leave before she jumped out of bed and scurried to the tray; a note, folded and waiting for her eager fingers. She did not disappoint it.

_Josslyn,_

_A lavender rose to symbolize the unexpected and the enchanting. You, dear lady, are both. I hope we can continue our previous 'discussion' tonight in the rose garden._

_Teagan_

The note did unexpected things to Josslyn's insides. The thought of meeting the very handsome and very engaging man anywhere was enough to make her heart flutter foolishly. But getting involved with anyone at this point in her life, or well, any point in her life for that matter, was unwise. She, of all people, understood what being a mage meant. It did not mean losing one's heart to anyone. Still, a bit of fun with a charming and beguiling man wouldn't be a bad thing. But a noble? What was she thinking? Apparently she wasn't thinking. At least not with her brain.

She would have to devise a way to keep Morrigan from interrupting her tryst with Teagan. As Joss devoured her breakfast she continued to mull over options. A male diversion? Obviously Morrigan was jealous of Josslyn's attraction to Teagan and his attraction to her. That struck Joss as odd. Morrigan seemed more the type to turn into her bear form and devour a man. The silly thing was, she actually liked Morrigan, appreciated her acerbic wit and couldn't imagine growing up with an ancient abomination was all that pleasant. Still, she wasn't going to be thwarted again. At least not without a fight. She continued to gnaw on the problem like Styx worrying a bone.

Meal complete, she went in search of the Chamberlain and then remembered she'd had to kill him. Oops. She found a maid scrubbing the blood from the floor in the hall. Joss felt a bit embarrassed that she had been the cause of much of the blood, or rather her spells had. She really needed to be a bit more circumspect when casting. She wasn't used to being a battlemage yet, and there were times when her spells were messy and overpowered. She didn't need to literally blow the enemy up. Sadly, she was fairly certain she would be getting more practice as they continued gathering the armies and fighting the darkspawn.

Ser Perth found her a short time later. She had wandered into the music room where she was still standing, gawking at the display of instruments like a boy staring at his first nude sculpture. She snapped her mouth shut and grinned at the gallant Knight of Redcliffe, who was doing his best to hide his amusement.

"Is the drool terribly noticeable?" she asked with a wry grin.

"Not at all, Warden Josslyn," he replied smoothly and offered his arm, leading her into a book lined study.

Maps and charts were scattered on a large table and Teagan, in an open collared shirt and leather breeches, was waiting with a warm smile. Josslyn's insides turned a few handsprings but she managed not to trip over her own feet for a change. She didn't, however, manage to keep from stubbing her toe on an ill-placed table leg. A large porcelain vase teetered precariously and started to fall. Without thinking, Joss cast a paralyzing spell and the vase hung in mid air. She reached out and plucked the vase out of the air and set it on the table, dusting it off and smiling brightly.

Teagan, his eyes alight with laughter, shook his head. "I imagine you're quite a lot of fun at parties," he said with a twitch of his lips.

"I've actually never been to a party. Or at least not one outside of Kinloch Hold. They tell me I'm not fit for human company," she told him confidentially. Teagan's laughter spilled into the room.

"I can't imagine why."

Ser Perth cleared his throat, looking vaguely uncomfortable. She imagined it was more to do with her use of magic than the conversation. People loved to see a mage healing someone or fighting by their side but the use of everyday magic repulsed them, made them wary and watchful if not downright frightened. For the beat of a butterfly's wings, Joss felt sympathy for him. But magic was a talent, much like a good sword arm or the ability to sing on key. All were talents that required constant honing. The entire notion that the Maker gave mages their abilities and then required them to be locked away and not use those talents was laughable. And worse.

Neither Teagan nor Ser Perth thought it wise to split the group up and go in different directions. Joss couldn't determine if they were worried that Alistair was not yet strong enough to lead or if they thought traveling with so few numbers was dangerous. Perhaps it was more about her leadership, or lack thereof. Teagan offered his boat, a two-masted ketch that could get them to Kinloch Hold in two days time, as opposed to the ten day forced march overland. Ser Perth offered two soldiers who wanted to become Grey Wardens. She accepted both.

"Just tell me that this ketch is safe. I'm not fond of swimming. Mostly because I don't know how," Joss muttered, feeling a peculiar heat in her cheeks.

To say she was one of those pretty blushers, all sweet pink cheeks, would be a lie. She was one of those blushers who had mottled red skin, an unattractive shade against her auburn hair. But there is was, sweeping up from her neck and leaving her with a prickly heat rash, no doubt.

Teagan took her hand in his, squeezing it in a reassuring grip. "Quite safe, dear lady. She's how I travel from the Bannorn to Redcliffe, captained by a well seasoned sailor. You will be much safer than traveling overland, I assure you."

"I'll send a healer back as quickly as I can then. They won't be able to cure the arl, but they can help stabilize his condition. They can also work with Connor. I don't think it's wise to leave him too long on his own."

Ser Perth took his leave then, to let the two soldiers, Cathair and Randal, know they'd be traveling with the Wardens. Joss wasn't at all sure she wanted yet more responsibility but there was no question that she needed them. She sighed heavily. How had it come about that she actually felt responsible for others? No doubt Niall would howl with laughter at the thought.

She reluctantly took her leave of Teagan, going in search of Alistair. She found him in the stables, sitting in the loft, feet dangling over the edge, staring into space. Joss climbed the ladder and came to sit beside him, letting her feet dangle beside his.

"You know, as hard as I stare into the distance, I rarely find any answers. What answers do you hope to find there?" she asked casually.

"Why do you suppose Duncan and Cailan were so insistent that we light the beacon instead of fighting on the front lines with them?"

Joss wasn't sure which particular truth Alistair was ready to hear. Did she tell him it was because Duncan knew that the battle plan was horribly flawed and that those fighting beside Cailan would surely die? Every time she thought of that she became furious with Cailan and Duncan all over again. If they knew they were going to die why did they do it? If Duncan knew that why didn't he give them some inkling of how to recruit new Wardens or perform the Joining? Why hadn't he left more Wardens in reserve? And if Cailan knew, why had he condemned half of Ferelden's army to death? Why had he refused to wait for the Orlesians or even Eamon's army? She couldn't say any of that to Alistair. He simply wasn't ready for it yet. Even as insensitive as she was, she knew that much.

"I wish I had an answer for you, Alistair. Truth be told, I've no more idea than you. Maybe the why doesn't even matter anymore. What matters is that we are alive and we have a daunting task ahead of us. Although it is ironic that the only two surviving Grey Wardens are a templar and a mage. Gotta love the irony of that."

Alistair stared at her as if she'd finally grown that third eye she'd always wanted and then he chuckled. "I guess."

"So, are these the luxurious accommodations provided by the arl?" she asked surveying the stables.

"They are. Pretty posh, eh?" Alistair asked with a sarcastic laugh.

"Well, I suppose the horses find them comfortable enough. Can't imagine they were terribly warm for non-horse types though."

"Maybe he thought it would build character," Alistair muttered darkly. _Maker's crooked teeth! Not more self pity_. She didn't blame him for being bitter, the man hadn't been given much of a life, but she couldn't afford for him to wallow. She needed him. She rocked her shoulder against his lightly.

"More likely he was trying to save his supply of cheese," she retorted and Alistair laughed.

"Didn't work. Mable, the cook's assistant, managed to sneak enough to keep me in cheese heaven."

Joss laughed, glad to see his dark mood easing. She quickly explained the traveling plans and the addition of two soldiers to the mix. "I want you to make sure these soldiers can fight," she added as she stood up. She brushed the straw from her skirt.

Alistair stood as well. "Sure, because I know so much about command and what makes a good soldier."

"You know a great deal more than I do. I don't even know how to hold a sword."

"Good point. I'll get right on it."

Next she went in search of Jowan, who was in his room, nervously pacing. Fear clung to him like cheap perfume. His pale blue eyes were wide and he ran a nervous hand through his dark locks.

"You've finally decided you were wrong to conscript me," he said with a finality in his voice.

Joss was tempted to make him sweat a bit. He had used the worst judgment possible when making his choices and there was a part of her that wanted him to be punished. What he had done had only made it harder for other mages. But ignorance wasn't a reason to kill someone. If it were, more than half the chantry and its templars would be dead. She faulted the Circle and its lack of training in life skills as much as she faulted Jowan.

"Well, it isn't the first mistake I've made, it won't be the last. But I have to know that you're not going to use your blood magic unless I tell you to and I need to know that I can trust you not to run away at the first opportunity. Convince me of those two things and I'll keep my promise."

"Wow, you really _can_ be serious when you need to be. We Apprentices had a pool about that."

Joss rolled her eyes. "Hardly the way to influence my decision," she replied dryly.

"Oh, right. I promise. I won't use blood magic without your approval and where could I run to?"

"Good point. Not exactly your best talent, running. Yet you managed to keep your relationship with Lily secret so what do I know?"

"Irving knew. Or so he claimed."

Joss gave a shout of laughter. "Irving claimed to be omniscient, all seeing. The man's nearsighted in more ways than one. And he is hardly all knowing or he'd have known that Alim would blow himself up and you'd use blood magic to escape. He's wily and manipulative, nothing more."

"I thought you were one of Irving's pets?" Jowan said and it sounded like an accusation.

Joss laughed again. "I wasn't a pet, Jowan, he just didn't know what to do with me. I think because I was comfortable and content in the tower he was just a bit worried about me. He told me it wasn't natural. Maybe not, but I'd be lying if I didn't say I miss it. Hot meals served at regular intervals, warm, soft beds and the run of one of the best libraries and laboratories in Ferelden, according to some."

Jowan gave her that same look that Alistair had and she reached up to rub her forehead, making sure she had not, in fact, grown a third eye. "You didn't mind the constant watching, the lack of privacy, the feeling that you were imprisoned? Maker, Joss, we didn't even have windows that opened! No fresh air, no freedom and no choice. I was going to be made tranquil. That's not even humane."

Joss wasn't going to argue. If he was made tranquil he'd have been too laid back to be concerned with any of it, including bitterness at being made tranquil. It was an old argument and one she wasn't going to indulge in. She found herself arguing anyway, damn it.

"You didn't have windows that opened. I did. I didn't mind the lack of privacy, I felt protected. It's all a matter of perception," she replied quietly. "Do I think that the Circle of Magi concept is a good one? No, Jowan. But until we find a better way to teach mages how to use their powers responsibly, it's all we've got. Connor is a prime example of why the tower is a necessary evil."

Jowan howled at that. "Maker's breath, you sound like Torrin or worse, Wynne."

Joss growled. "Don't make me regret sparing you, Jowan. Insulting me is most definitely the way to do that."

She moved to the door and then turned, smiling grimly. "It hardly matters at the moment. We have a Blight to stop. Somehow. And we leave for the tower tomorrow morning. I am going to have you and Morrigan stay at the inn, the Soiled Dove? Stolen Princess? What's it called?"

Jowan was snickering. "Spoiled Princess."

"Isn't that what I said?" Joss asked as she left.

Leliana was in her room when Joss finally found her. Praying and watching more visions, no doubt. There was something about Leliana that Joss found irritating. Her piety, most likely. In her experience those who were extremely pious also tended to be extremely hypocritical. Still, for a lay sister, she was a wickedly accurate archer and she had somehow learned how to pick locks. But she heard the Maker's voice in her head and that meant she was a few feathers shy of a duck.

"I have a favor to ask, Leliana," Joss began without more than a cursory greeting.

"Yes, Josslyn, what is it?" Leliana asked in her dulcet, accented voice.

"Morrigan has expressed an interest in learning the Chant of Light. I know," she continued, holding up a hand to keep Leliana's exclamations to a minimum, "I'm as surprised as you are but there you have it. She asked if you would go to her room this evening and share it with her. She will be reticent, I'm sure, to admit her interest to you. No doubt it makes her feel inferior but be persistent."

Joss felt an odd combination of pride at how smoothly she delivered her lie and guilt at how easily she had duped Sister Fishing With No Hook. After explaining their plans for the following morning, she left Leliana to find Morrigan.

Morrigan was in the herbal garden, sunning herself. No doubt being cooped up in a building was difficult for a woman who had grown up running with the wolves and such. One could almost feel sorry for her, were she not such a bitter, caustic thing. Still, Joss was on a mission and she swallowed any pity she might feel for Morrigan.

Filling Morrigan in on their plans for the following day, Joss noted the narrowed eyes when she mentioned that both she and Jowan would not be going to the tower with the others. There was also a flash of relief in those catlike eyes of hers.

"There's just one more matter," Joss said apologetically. "I have just come from Leliana and need to request a favor from you. That woman knows her Chant of Light and feels compelled to share it with all of us. I did get her to promise to stop once she had shared some of it with each of us. Until she does, I fear she won't leave any of us alone."

""Twould be most foolish of her to prattle on about such things to me," Morrigan said, standing to her full height, as haughty and dignified as the Queen of Antiva.

"Well, certainly. But here's the thing, Morrigan. If you truly want her to leave you alone, it would be easier to let her ramble on about it just the one time and then not ever have to worry about it again."

Morrigan tilted her head as she thought about it, her golden eyes narrowed again, this time in contemplation. Joss found she was holding her breath and crossing her fingers for luck, which made her feel about ten years old. She uncrossed her fingers and found a neutral expression to wear.

""Twould be easier to freeze her should she try, rather than have her annoy me with such drivel."

"Easier for now, yes. But do you want to continually avoid her or freeze her? Such a waste of your valuable time and talents, surely?" Joss asked reasonably. She smiled in commiseration. Morrigan frowned.

"Oh very well. If you are sure this will be the only time she annoys me with such nonsense," Morrigan acquiesced ungraciously.

"Quite sure," Joss replied, doing a small victory dance in her mind.

Morrigan made a scoffing noise and turned away from Joss, dismissing her much as she suspected a noble would. Where _did_ she get her airs from? Without another word, but crowing internally, Joss left the apostate in the herb garden and went into the castle and up the stairs to the family quarters. A maid was just coming out of her room when she approached.

"Milady, his lordship had me deliver a few things to your room. Might need alterations," the maid said bobbing a curtsey.

"Oh please don't do that. I'm not a lady, I'm a mage," Joss said and then blinked. Well, she was a lady, but not a _Lady_. No use explaining that to the maid, especially as Joss wasn't entirely sure she was really a lady either.

"Yes, milady," the maid said, bobbing again.

The few things were two dresses, both of fine wool and well made but of a plain design. One was the shade of summer peaches and the other was a deep crimson, trimmed in black velvet. There was also a pair of sturdy brown riding boots. She paled, thinking of Teagan's ruined glossy brown boots. Best not to remember. "Please thank Bann Teagan."

"Yes, milady. He says you are to do as you will with them. Should I wait in case they need alterations?"

There was no need for alterations but Joss was struck with an idea. She reached into the armoire and pulled out her red and gold mage robes. "Do you suppose you can inset the material from this robe into the red dress?"

The maid frowned, considering the idea and then nodded. "Yes, milady. Shall I use all of the material?"

Joss nodded. "As much as you can, please. You're Sally, aren't you?" Joss asked hopefully. She was as bad with names as she was with walking. Haphazard at best.

The maid smiled shyly. "Yes, Lady Josslyn."

Evening seemed to take forever to arrive. Joss spent the rest of the day packing her meager belongings and going over a checklist of supplies they would take with them. Sally returned with the red dress and Joss was delighted with the results. Mage robes without the binding or constriction. Perfect. If only she had another but she hoped to pick up another set or two at the tower.

She ate in her room, hunched over her lists. But as soon as the sun settled contentedly for the night, she made her way to the rose garden. The moon was peeking shyly from behind a cloud, limned silver by its light. Teagan was waiting for her and his smile was a caress. Her insides shivered at his look.

"You look as beautiful as I imagined when I chose that dress," he began, moving to take her hand. He bent over it and brushed a soft kiss along the knuckles before turning her hand over and planting a lingering kiss on her palm. She tried to silence the quick intake of breath and failed miserably.

"Will we have company again tonight?" he teased, his blue eyes almost silver in the moonlight.

"Alas, I fear not. Unless it displeases milord, in which case give me a moment and I shall fetch her."

Teagan's arm snaked around her waist. "You wouldn't."

She raised a brow as he pulled her closer. Flicking her tongue across suddenly dry lips, she shook her head, for once speechless. She was used to the hurried trysts in the tower but this felt different, this _was_ different. And it seemed to be happening entirely too quickly yet the pull was irresistible; like the pull of the tide she was swept into his embrace.

It was wrong; she was a noble and he was a mage. No, no, no, that wasn't right. She was the mage and damn him, he was the man who knew exactly how to kiss a woman to leave her wanting more, soft and unhurried, a play of lips against lips that made her a mindless puddle of desire.

"Am I too bold?" he asked, stepping back to look at her. She was panting like a racehorse, she was sure; making a complete and utter fool of herself but in that moment, in the magical rose garden, she couldn't give a damn. She looked away, as if that would somehow give her the ability to think rationally. His fingers gently forced her to look at him.

"Am I?" he asked seriously. "I've no intention of forcing you into something against your will, Josslyn," he promised.

Her will? That was completely gone, the bitch had deserted her. Wrong, wrong, wrong, oh, oh no, so not wrong when his lips trailed a hot path along the sensitive skin of her neck. Her head fell back and someone had boldly moved her arms until her fingers had nowhere else to go but his hair. His thick brown hair, sifting through her fingers, tickling them in a way that went straight to her nether regions.

"Not too bold," she finally articulated as his mouth moved back to hers.

There was something undeniable about the attraction and it frightened Joss but not so much she was willing to let go of her hold on the man. She felt him pressed against her, his body unlike the soft bodies of the mages or the tempered hardness of the templars; firm without being hard. Well except for a certain part of him, that was as hard as a rod of fire. She bit back a laugh at that image.

They broke away and she was pleased to see the hooded gaze of desire on Teagan's face; delighted to hear his breath coming as quickly as her own. This was not merely a seduction to him and while that relieved her fear, it heightened her anxiety. She was a mage, likely one who would die trying to stop a Blight and he was a nobleman, would become an arl if his brother died, which seemed likely.

"Stop thinking," Teagan advised, the humor back in his eyes and voice.

"Right. Thinking done," she replied and found that his lips were on hers again, more demanding, his tongue pressing against them and she opened her mouth, inviting his tongue to plunder at will.

She would have been happy to stand there in the garden and make love. It was certainly less confining than the linen closets in the tower, or the narrow bed in a dark dormitory. Teagan, however, was not. He invited her back to his room and she didn't even consider saying no. She should have. She'd never actually spent the night with a man, or even more than twenty minutes, come to think of it. Not that she could think too clearly at the moment.

His room was softly lit, the bed as large as her room back in the tower. That gave her a rush of heat. A bed that large was made for indolent exploration and with a sense of panic, she realized she knew the basic mechanics but little of the finer points of love making. Was it too late to run screaming back to her room? Probably. Her legs were too weak to do more than walk toward the bed.

No-one had ever taken such care in undressing her and examining her. As each lace of her dress was untied, he found somewhere new to lavish his attention and she was a moaning mass of honeyed heat by the time her dress floated to the floor in a peach puddle. She shivered as his hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs rubbing firmly against her pebbled nipples.

"You are more than lovely, Josslyn," he murmured, his tongue gently probing her ear in a way that made her moan turn into a low hiss of desire. His fingers trailed down her back, lightly, tantalizingly.

"Stay the night with me?" he asked as his hands cupped her bared bottom and he pulled her flush against him.

Stay? For the entire night? She shivered at his touch. She needed to end this before it became a real nightmare for her, before she forgot her oath to avoid any type of relationship with any man. She swallowed sharply. She had only to say the word and he would step back and allow her to leave, she knew that instinctively. She opened her mouth, to apologize and flee for the safety of her own room.

"Yes," she purred.

She found undressing him to be quite a bit easier than she'd imagined. His skin was warm and inviting, an invitation her lips were too happy to comply with. She discovered he growled when she let her fingers graze over his nipples and that his head fell back when her tongue and lips wandered along his collarbone and neck. He groaned when she let her fingers stroke his hard length; his breath hitched when she whispered her want in his ear.

She also discovered that she could be as loud as she wanted without the fear of a templar or mage interrupting and that was a good thing because Teagan's tongue found her nub and sent her nearly howling at the moon, whose light was now flooding into their bedchamber, no longer shyly peeking out from behind a cloud, but beaming approval at them.

And she discovered how sweetly her name sounded as Teagan slid into her wet heat, calling her name in lusty abandon. He was so much more accomplished a lover than she was, but she was determined to learn all she could in their night together, on the off chance that they never got another chance.

Finally, she discovered the bliss of being held as she fell into a deep and contented sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** _And now on to the Circle, after a bit of morning naughtiness._

**Circle Jerk**

She woke while the sun was still struggling to rise. Pulling Teagan's discarded shirt over her head, she stepped out onto the balcony and inhaled deeply. She could almost smell the dew on the grass and the peaty smoke from the village. Homey smells. Smells that were new and foreign to her, for all that she had been out of the tower for months now.

Joss avoided looking at Lake Calenhad. The last thing she wanted was to be on a boat in _that_lake. But it made sense and she knew her fears of ending up like half the village, lying in a watery grave, were just that; fears. Still, she shuddered at the thought. Better to go out in a blaze of glory, literally. She supposed the circle could always hire out its mages to ensure funeral pyres left nothing but ashes behind. She doubted, somehow, the citizens of Ferelden were ready for such a proposition, even if she thought it had merit.

"You do realize it's cold out here?" Teagan asked, coming to stand behind her. He enveloped her in a blanket, pulling her back against his warm body. She rested against him, looking up at a sky going from deep indigo to slate. Oh lovely, clouds. No doubt they were storm clouds. She'd probably never make it to Kinloch Hold_. Alright Joss, walk away from those thoughts. _

"Is it? I could offer to warm you up," she responded, pushing her grimmer thoughts into the dew-laden air.

Teagan's goatee tickled her neck as he nuzzled her and she turned to face him, pressing her body against his. "How strong are your legs?" she asked with a mischievous grin. Before giving him time to answer, she slid down the length of his body, kneeling before him.

He was already hardening as she drew him into her mouth, her tongue swirling and teasing the head of his cock. Her hands, warmed and seeking, teased and played along his shaft as her mouth continued to slowly suck and lick his length. One hand came to cup him, stroking gently.

His fingers curled in her tangled hair, scraping lightly at her scalp and she heard his low growl of need as she coaxed him onward with her mouth, pulling him in deeper until her lips and tongue and mouth traveled the entire length of his erection. Teagan's hips arched into her and his fingers tightened in her hair as her mouth rode his thick, hard cock.

Looking up as she held the tip of his shaft in her mouth, licking at the clear fluid and she caught Teagan's eyes, dark with passion. She hummed against his shaft, her fingers trailing along his belly, his thighs, and back to gently stroke his balls and scrotum. She swirled her tongue around the tip and then licked the length of him, curling her lips lightly around the head and tugging gently, tongue teasing along the ridge. His voice was a low groan as he thrust his hips forward. He smelled divine, musky and forbidden.

Teagan's groan of pleasure mingled with the first call of the morning birds and his hips arched again as she continued, letting her mouth wander to his balls and scrotum, licking and kissing and sucking gently before returning to his pulsing manhood, her mouth caressing him. She trailed her hand down along the flat planes and muscles of his abdomen before once again cupping him. She could feel him tensing, his voice urgent and low as he groaned, his fingers gripping her hair as he directed her. She stroked him and danced her tongue along his shaft, pulling him into her mouth again, sucking and licking with wicked purpose. His voice was a strangled moan and she smiled more than once to hear his murmured pleasure, his voice taking on a desperate need.

As his orgasm approached, she let a gentle wave of magic flow from her fingers to his balls, sending it curling through him and he bucked, calling her name out without regard for the volume, which was loud; the sound of his release went straight to her core, tightening her stomach and making her damp. She swallowed his seed as his hips arched reflexively. Teagan shuddered and twitched as she continued to milk his cock. When she was sure she had sucked the last drop from him, she blew gently on the head, kissing it lightly and then slowly stood up. His legs were buckling and she slipped her arms around his waist.

"Good morning. Warmer now?" she asked with a pert smile. He sagged against her, flashing her a smile.

An hour later, bathed and wearing her new 'mage' robe, she tied her kit around her waist. It had taken her almost the entire hour to get the tangles out of her hair and now she twisted her still damp hair into a chignon at the nape of her neck. The ship was set to sail in thirty minutes.

Joss couldn't decide if the butterflies that fluttered unrelentingly in her stomach were nerves about sailing or excitement about returning to visit with her friends in the tower. As the butterflies were only slightly smaller than pigeons, she suspected they were nerves. She really was a coward of the highest order. But a sated coward, she thought with a grin.

A knock on her door, timid and light, brought her out of her lust inspired thoughts of Teagan Guerrin. She opened the door and then fell speechless as Isolde, looking haggard in the early morning light, her eyes red rimmed and her hair falling out of its neat coil, stood on the threshold.

"May I come in?" she asked in a hoarse whisper. She had obviously been crying. A lot.

"Of course," Joss said, not bothering to hide her suspicion.

"You are a mage," Isolde began and then fell silent.

What an observant woman, Joss thought acidly, arms folded tightly. Great. Just what she wanted, a lecture on morality from a pious noble. She rocked lightly on the balls of her feet, waiting for the onslaught of condemnation. She would not take it silently. Already the words were forming for her toad spell. One step over the line and Isolde Guerrin would croak for the rest of her life.

Pacing the room, Isolde finally came to stand in front of Josslyn. "I didn't tell Eamon about Connor because I was ashamed. The men in my family were mages and they were evil, wicked men," she began and the tears started again.

Panicked at the sight of the distraught woman, shocked by the direction the conversation had taken, Joss took a step back, trying to think of something to say that wouldn't sound like absolute rubbish. It was the notion that magic automatically made for depraved indifference that finally gave Joss her tongue back.

"Magic doesn't make one inherently evil or wicked, Arlessa Isolde. Bad men make bad mages, good men make good mages. But the actual magical ability within them doesn't decide that. That is a choice they make within their mind and heart. Don't blame their evilness on being a mage.

"Give Connor your unconditional support and acceptance. Children who come from families who fear and ridicule them have a much more difficult time learning to control and apply their magic. They are more subject to…" Joss trailed off. Best not warn the woman what happened to weaker and more fragile mages.

"I – I will try. But he seems different and I do not know how to reach out to him," the woman admitted.

"With love," Joss replied and bit back the insults that sat in her throat asking to be released. _Imbecile. Self centered bitch_. No, she wasn't either of those things, well she may be, but not about Connor. She was a scared, foolish woman who loved her son to the detriment of others.

"If he needs to talk about it listen to him without those little moues of disgust you do so well."

Isolde's eyes narrowed and her mouth pursed. "Yes, that's the look," Joss said cheerfully.

"Was there anything else?" she continued, turning to pick up the coin pouch Teagan had given her.

That had certainly caused an ugly scene. She had been so angry that she'd hit him with a few short bursts of lightning, nothing dangerous but enough to let him know she could do more before furiously explaining that she didn't take money for sleeping with men and if she did, she sure as hell would want more than the thirty sovereigns glinting guiltily in the leather pouch. Her performance on the balcony had been worth that much alone. Teagan had agreed, with a rather lewd and lascivious grin, and then held up a hand in amused defeat as she raised her arms to zap him again.

"I'm giving you coins for supplies on your travels, you prickly woman," he had laughed good-naturedly.

"Oh." There had been as much heat in her cheeks as any fireball she had ever cast.

Joss came back to the present to look at the woman before her. Older looking in the harsh light but Joss wondered if the woman was any wiser. Isolde took her leave with another murmured promise to try to reach out to Connor. Joss stood in her room, listening to the soft rustle of Isolde's skirts as the woman retreated, hoping for Connor's sake that his mother would find the right words.

On the dock a short time later, Joss looked around for the large boat Teagan had promised. She saw, instead, a boat no larger than Kester's rickety wooden row boat. "This is going to take us all the way to Kinloch Hold?" she asked, her voice a squeak of concern. Mouse, in the Fade, had a deeper voice than her in that moment. She cleared her throat.

Teagan smiled, his voice radiating humor and confidence. "You don't think it will make it?" he asked, his blue eyes sparking with mischief.

"Lightning," she replied with a glower. He chuckled.

"The ship is too large to dock here. This dory will take you to the Blithe Spirit."

The two soldiers who were to accompany them and become Grey Wardens were a bit of a shock to Joss. Cathair was actually a woman, a tall and well muscled woman with a surprisingly sweet voice. She carried a sword nearly as tall as Joss. Randal was only slightly taller than Cathair and he carried the Shield of Redcliffe and a longsword. He turned out to be Murdock's youngest son. She welcomed them and watched as all but Alistair and Leliana settled into the dory. They would have to wait for a second dory, already pulling up alongside the dock.

_Maker's hairy ass, did Teagan really expect her to get into that little boat? _She'd seen bigger boats in bathtubs. She was just about to tell him that when he took her arm and propelled her away from the others, his eyes and tone serious.

"About last night," he began and Joss sighed. Here it came. The big brush off. As if she hadn't ever experienced _that _before. She might as well save him the embarrassment.

"I understand. You felt grateful for my help with Connor," she cut in.

"Yes, I did and still do, but …" he started again and again Joss cut him off.

"But there is nowhere for this to go. It was wonderful while it lasted, the best of luck to you in the future. It's quite alright, Teagan, I under…" she said and he shook his head.

"Maker's breath, woman, let me speak," he said in exasperated amusement and pulled her into his arms, his kiss lingering and lustful and curling her toes.

"About last night, Joss," he began again, casting a wary glance at her. She remained silent and he continued. "It was _not_ some quick tryst. I don't know what it meant to you, but it was more than that to me and when all of this is over, I want to explore just what this is between us."

"Oh."

He smirked at that and then took her hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing it softly before turning it over and dropping a warm kiss in her palm.

"Stay safe, dearest lady. I will be waiting for your return."

Joss didn't think that was a particularly smart plan for him. If things went badly he could be waiting a very long time. Without voicing her thoughts for once, she merely smiled and nodded and then screwed up her courage and stepped into the rickety, rocking little toy boat.

* * *

Contrary to her fellow traveler's teasing, she did not kiss the ground when the small dory arrived at the docks near the tower two days later. She had dropped a silver piece that she had intended for the young boy who had rowed them over from the Blithe Spirit, anchored in a deeper channel of the lake, and was looking for it.

"With your lips?" Alistair teased, helping her stand. She brushed her skirts off, lifting her chin regally.

"Certainly not. It's the angle of the sun that made it look as though I was kissing the ground," she replied with an imperious toss of her head. Alistair's snort was accompanied by several others. Even Styx had the temerity to howl in derision.

"Keep it up, furball, and you won't get that nice lamb bone I've been saving for you," she scolded.

"Hey, I am not a furball," Alistair complained, rubbing his smooth chin. Joss was sure she heard Styx sniggering.

After rooms were found for Cathair, Randal, Jowan and Morrigan in the Spoiled Princess, the others made their way back down to the dock in search of Kester. They found Carroll instead. It was the first time Joss felt a wicking of fear crawl along her skin and enter her blood. Carroll should be where he always was, in the kitchen peeling vegetables. That he was on the dock trying to keep people away from the tower filled Joss with the kind of foreboding that precedes the worst possible news.

"Carroll, if you don't take us across to the tower immediately, you are going to be hit with a bolt of lightning that will light the sky up."

"Ah, Joss, when did you lose your sense of humor?" Carroll pouted, leading them down to the small boat.

_When I made the foolish decision to accompany Duncan to Ostagar. When the Grey Wardens died and left me in charge. When I lost my favorite pair of gloves in a rainstorm, sloshing around in the squalid mud. When half the village of Redcliffe rose up from the dead_. She shrugged her shoulders.

"I haven't lost it, Chipper, I never had it," she replied with a grin, using his old nickname. He beamed. He really was a sweet, lyrium-addled puppy. And the Queen of Antiva on days when he didn't get enough lyrium. She sat next to him. Mostly because nobody else in the group would, not even Styx, the coward.

"What's going on at the tower?" she asked casually, hoping to sneak up on his brain. It seemed to run when confronted directly.

"Dunno. Greagoir sent me out to keep people away. Been here for days and days. Nobody's come in or out. Well, except you. You reckon Greagoir will be mad?"

Greagoir wasn't mad. Greagoir was grey and old and lost. Apparently the tower had been taken over by demons and abominations and he had locked everyone in the tower. The huge steel doors were closed. She looked around for the two templars who were always stationed at the main door, Bran and Stoker. They weren't there.

Joss's stomach and heart dropped to her toes. "Irving? Petra? Cullen? Niall? Anyone?"

Greagoir pointed to the double doors leading into the main tower. "We had no choice, Joss. I've sent for the Rite of Annulment."

Joss wanted to wring Greagoir's neck. "Are you insane? Annul the tower? You don't know how many may still be alive in there. But it's so like you to just throw your hands in the air and give up on the mages," she hissed, anger and fear vibrating through her like the plucked strings of a lute.

"You and I both know that's the only thing to do. Everyone in there is dead. Or worse."

"And you know, you pompous pantaloon, that I know more about demons and the Fade than anyone else here. Get out of my way and have your men open that damned door before I turn you into a pile of smoldering templar," Joss threatened.

Andraste's tits, everyone she knew and cared about, hated and loved, locked up with demons, becoming abominations. If she focused on that she wouldn't be able to breathe. As it was, she was pretty sure she was having a heart attack. It certainly seemed to be attacking her chest, determined to beat its way out.

"Joss, I know how you feel," Greagoir began and she saw the grief in his grey eyes, saw it sitting on his shoulders, heavy enough to cause them to bow under it's weight.

"Then open the door and let me try, Greagoir."

Greagoir stared at her so intensely that Joss was left to wonder if she'd managed that third eye yet. Finally he nodded. "But we will annul the circle when the men return from Denerim."

"Agreed, but give me at least eight hours before you begin."

"If I can, I will."

They stared at each other, adversaries and friends, both with so much to lose if she wasn't successful. _Gee, no pressure there, Joss_. But she didn't have time to waste on sentimentality and what ifs.

"Alistair, I want you to return to the Spoiled Princess. If we aren't back by tomorrow morning, head to Denerim and find Genitalia…er…Genitivi and search for the urn. Gather the armies. Understood?"

"What? No! You'll need a templar in there," Alistair protested, mulish.

"Alistair, I haven't got time to argue with you. If something happens to me, the only other Grey Warden in Ferelden has to carry on. That's going to be impossible if you're dead."

Alistair's face paled. "Oh. Good point. Alright then, I'll go but shouldn't I send someone else over to help? Jow- OW!" Alistair exclaimed as she zapped him. "What was that for?" he asked peevishly.

Joss just glared at him until she saw the answer dawn on him. "Right. I'll head over to the inn now."

She gave him a quick hug. "Don't let Morrigan boss you around. She's a bitch but she's powerful and underneath it all, she's not a bad sort. And Alistair," Joss began and stopped. She took a deep breath. She hated messy, long farewells.

"Thank Teagan for me. Tell him I…" Joss trailed off. She what? Cared? Nonsense. She didn't want to care, damn it.

"Yeeeesss?" Alistair asked, his voice rising and his cheeks blazing.

"Never mind."

She handed her pack to him. The pouch of coins, now totaling well over sixty sovereigns, was in the pack. As were the treaties. No sense in carrying that around if she was dead. And if she was an abomination, she'd have no need of money either. She watched Alistair leave. He turned back once and she shooed him with a smile that probably wasn't very reassuring, judging from his expression. He gave her a thumbs up and was gone.

She stopped by the quartermaster in the hope that he had lyrium potions and other things she might need. She was relieved to see he did and she took all of the lyrium and health potions he had.

"That'll be three sovereigns, sixty silver."

Joss was livid. "Wait a damned minute! I'm going in there to save your sorry ass and you're going to charge me for supplies? You bottom dwelling profiteer! Hand over those potions before you're clucking like a chicken!"

"Do it, Macavie, you idiot," Greagoir rumbled.

"You really need to work on your people skills," Leliana chirped.

"Yes, I'll get right on that," Joss retorted with a grim smile.

And then she was standing before the double steel doors leading into the tower. "Open the doors," she instructed while she still had control of her voice. It was shaking like a leaf in a gale. She could hear the muttering, stuttering fear of the templars behind her, commenting on how crazy she was, that they'd always suspected as much, that she was going to get them all killed. She shook her head in disgust.

Bunch of circle jerks.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N**_**:**__ I apologize for the delay in chapters. DA2 is only partly to blame. RL got in the way as well and then my muse decided to take a vacation without me. _

_- DA2 will not play into this story. This is about Joss, Teagan and the neighborhood going to hell in a Blight. _

_- The Fade dreams have been changed to protect the innocent. Or the not-so-innocent as the case may be._

My thanks for your continuing interest and support. It is a wonderful boon and constant source of joy.

**Please Don't Feed the Demons**

Someone had been very busy redecorating the tower in her absence. Joss was staggered by the destruction and the death; there was most definitely a tear in the Veil. More like a massive, gaping hole that demons were pouring through. She stood immobilized with shock. Styx barked sharply, pawing at her until he finally knocked her down.

"Alright, boy, don't get you knickers…er…right," Joss muttered as Leliana gave her a hand up.

"Oh, you poor, poor dear. All these people, you must know them, yes?"

Joss looked at Leliana, dumbstruck by the woman's propensity for stating the obvious so obliviously. The woman was all foam and no ale, Joss thought sourly. She didn't bother to answer as she stepped into the apprentice's dormitory.

Everything had been tossed about as if a great hand had come swooping down from the ceiling and across the room, tossing bunks, chests and armoires around like they were toys. Alistair was right, as much as she hated to admit it. Swooping was bad.

And there, hanging on the wall like a newly framed portrait, was Stoker, held in place by his own Sword of Mercy. For a minute, Joss thought that same invisible hand had swooped down and clutched her heart, squeezing it tightly. She turned away, closing her eyes but the image was burned into her and closing her eyes only made her dizzy.

They found Bran and a dozen apprentices in the bathhouse across from the dormitory. Apparently he was under the impression that demons were afraid of water. That wasn't too surprising considering Kinloch Hold sat in the middle of a lake. It was a common misconception. The lake was to keep the mages contained, not the demons. If mages couldn't swim, neither could the demons possessing them and thus both would drown. Apparently the walking dead were another matter, considering the assault on Redcliffe. She didn't explain that to Bran.

The children, ranging in age from six to sixteen, were all apprentices that she knew and she took a moment to talk to each one of them, reminding them to be calm; to breathe deeply. Tumultuous emotions were beacons for demons, especially dangerous to the young and unharrowed.

Bran, helmet set aside and face the color of boiled turnips, was trying his best to remain calm as well. She pulled him aside while Leliana sang an Orlesian folksong to the children. The woman had a surprisingly sweet voice when singing.

"What happened?"

"I don't know, Josslyn. One minute Stoker and I were going off shift and the next there were demons and abominations everywhere. We tried to get as many of the apprentices in here as we could before the barrier doors shut."

Bran's face shifted, crumpling into a mask of sorrow. "Stoker died protecting us. I – I don't know what I'll do without him," he said with a hitch in his voice. Joss put her arm around him. Bran and Stoker had stood watch together for ten years. They were like an old married couple and the thought that they would no longer be the vanguard of the tower templars made Joss want to cry as well.

"The only thing you _can_ do to honor his sacrifice…stay alive and take back the tower."

There was a part of Joss that felt distant from the events, an onlooker calmly assessing the scene while the little girl in her ran around in her brain screaming and shouting in a blind panic. It was the woman who spoke to Bran. The girl was curling up into a little ball, searching for her security blanket and a quiet corner to cry in.

"I've got to get in there and stop the demons. Have any idea where this started?"Joss asked, supremely proud of how steady her voice was. She felt like a quivering mass of fear and indecision.

Bran shook his head, looking as thin and brittle as parchment. In fact, he looked as if he had aged twenty years since she'd last seen him, his grey eyes silvered with unshed tears, his rust red hair dull. She hugged him again and then stepped back, pulling her best smile out of her pocket and affixing it to her face.

"I'll do what I can," she told him with far more assurance than she felt. Whistling for Styx and waving to Leliana, she made her way from the bathhouse.

"What about a templar? You can't go in there without one," Bran protested.

She turned to him with a shrug. "You can't leave the apprentices alone, they need you. I'm sure I'll be fine," Joss lied brightly. With another wave, she made her way to the last of the barrier doors.

Another group of apprentices and mages were gathered in the last antechamber leading into the heart of the tower. Someone had erected a magical barrier to keep things out. And in. It made no sense to Joss as the barrier doors behind her were much less unstable than any magical barrier, especially since any crazed templar could dispel the magic with a few good cleanses. The doors had been installed for that very reason.

Joss glanced around quickly and her eyes settled on Wynne. Naturally the old battleaxe would be fine. Gritting her teeth, Joss moved forward only to have said battleaxe turn on her, the chant of a spell on her lips.

"You hit me with a spell, old woman, and I'll make sure it is the last thing you ever do," Joss growled, raising her hands and preparing her own spell.

The two women glared at each other as their hands danced in the magic-laden air between them. Finally Wynne lowered her arms. "What are you doing here?"

"What? I can't come for a visit?" Joss asked with a grin, taking in the others.

Lovely. Keili the Krazy was huddled in a corner reciting the chant. So far that strategy didn't seem to be working too well. Joss had recommended that Keili be made tranquil, that her fear of her own power was enough to make her a danger to others. Apparently Irving had gotten right on that recommendation. Lazy twit.

Kinnon and Petra were standing watch over a group of very young apprentices. Joss felt a wave of relief that at least two of her friends were alive. Damn it, where had her tears come from? She swiped at it, glaring at Wynne. Now was as good a time to cry as it was to dance the Remigold.

"What happened?"

It was not a pretty tale but not unexpected either. Wynne and Torrin had warned Irving about Uldred. Apparently the old geezer was deaf and now the entire tower was in danger of falling down around their ears. Uldred, with Loghain's support, was going to free the mages? Megalomaniac.

And Loghain seemed to be operating under the control of someone else, so odd were his actions. The Hero of River Dane consorting with mages like Uldred? It just didn't make sense. One little bolt of lighting up Loghain's arse had not been the culprit and she was finally forced to admit that something had sent him into a black pit of paranoia or someone else was pulling strings. Neither thought made her happy.

"Listen, as pretty as that barrier is, you need to take everyone back through the barrier _door_. Bran is in the bathhouse with a group of apprentices. You should be safe enough there."

Wynne had the grace to look slightly flustered at that bit of news. Keili chose that moment to become aware of Joss, crying out that it was the godless that were responsible for the current state of the tower, pointing a shaking finger at Joss.

"You know, Keili, it occurs to me that the spirits and demons of the Fade were the Maker's first children. Kind of makes you wonder what he was thinking, doesn't it? Kind of scary that he created them and when that experiment failed, he created us. His children. What does that say about the Maker?"

"Blasphemer!" Keili cried and went back to her chanting, rocking herself like a crazy old lady in a rocking chair.

As Joss led the group back through the barrier door, she finally saw Merrisoo and groaned. The perfect mage. The perfect woman. Not one strand of artfully arranged blonde hair was out of place. Not one spot of blood, corruption or dust marred her perfect robe. Not one wrinkle dared mar her face. Beloved, talented and impossibly perfect, Merrisoo stood regally by, helping the children and looking perfect while doing so. Luckily, Merrisoo was too intent on helping the children to notice Joss. Merrisoo was the personification of perfection that a modern mage of any breeding sought to mimic. Josslyn was the very model of a modern mage in general. They were not friends.

Of course Wynne the Wise wanted to accompany Joss into the tower. "You'll need me to remove that barrier," Wynne concluded, glowering at Joss through narrowed eyes.

"As impressive as the barrier is, Wynne, it would have been much simpler to – oh, you know what? It just really doesn't matter. If you want to come help, great. But keep your condescending remarks to yourself or you'll be the only mage in the tower without a tongue." Provided there were any mages left, Joss thought grimly.

Just before Joss started off once again with Wynne, Styx and Leliana in tow, Petra stopped her, pulling her to the side.

"Watch out for Wynne," Petra began in a soft, urgent whisper. "She nearly died out there. In fact, I could swear she did die. And then suddenly she was alive again and fighting off the demons."

Joss's heart did a double take. "Are you saying she has a demon in her?"

"I don't know, Joss, but it wasn't normal, I know that. Just watch her carefully. She saved my life but people don't die and then come back to life, do they?"

_Great, nothing better than even more worries on a plate already overflowing with them._ Joss dug up a smile and slapped it on her lips. She was going to run out of those pretty quickly, the way things were going.

"Thanks, Petra. I'll keep an eye on her. And you need to watch Keili. She's even more unhinged than normal. Don't hesitate to put her in restraints, or worse, if she gets near the younger mages. Those poor kids are frightened enough."

If the walking dead smelled atrocious then abominations smelled…well…abominable. As they made their way through the first level of the tower, killing anything that was even remotely non-human, Joss began to despair of finding any of her other friends, alive or possessed. And the poor templars. So many had been killed, no doubt in retaliation for crimes both real and imagined, by the surprising number of blood mages running around the tower.

Joss realized two major mistakes she'd made before the group went very far. Her magic was growing in intensity, the Veil shimmering and sparkling with malcontent as her emotions began to flare out of control. She should have brought a templar who could smite her, discharging her magic before it grew to dangerous levels. She was an idiot.

She also realized she should have kept her pack with her. The small kit at her hip with her potions wasn't big enough to carry around the odd bits of things she was finding in the tower, mementoes of a life no longer hers. She was not just an idiot, she was a _big _idiot.

When they entered the second floor's antechamber, Joss moved immediately to the stockroom, hoping to find a small pack and the Litany of Adralla. The Litany of Adralla was the only real weapon against mind control and Joss had never taken the time to learn it by heart, something she now regretted. She stopped mid stride, her mouth agape like a floundering fish. Owain, his robes as fresh as laundry day, was standing in his usual spot.

"Welcome to the stockroom of magical items. My name is Owain. How may I help you?"

And that was the best advertisement for being made tranquil. Joss was rendered speechless by his calm monotone. With her magic rolling off her in rivulets of sweat and lyrium, he was as calm as a summer day. For a flash of a second, Joss wished _she_ was a Tranquil.

"I remember you. Josslyn Winifred Amell. You left with the Grey Warden. You helped me decide to become Tranquil. You said: _Please don't feed the demons_. I have not. Are you here to help?"

"Yes, Owain, I'm here to help. I need the Litany of Adralla. Quickly," she added. He didn't move. "As in _very_ quickly," she added with as patient a smile as she could muster. It was probably not very impressive. She'd obviously left her patience in the pack she'd sent with Alistair.

"I am sorry, Enchanter Josslyn, but the Litany of Adralla is no longer in the stockroom of magical items. Please see Enchanter Niall for that item."

"Niall? Niall is alive? That's wonderful news!" Joss crowed, the relief sluicing through her.

After obtaining a pack, she led the others onward. Owain did not want to leave his stockroom and she couldn't blame him. He wanted to stay where things were familiar to him and as she looked around at the blood stained walls she wanted the same thing.

"Remember, Enchanter Josslyn, don't feed the demons," Owain instructed. Joss swung around to look at him, expecting to see his shy smile sitting on his lips but he was expressionless. She nodded and started off again.

She didn't mean to kill Melis, an old friend now turned blood mage. She had meant only to subdue her but the magic that was flowing around her in thick waves had other ideas. The lightning bolt that hit Melis threw her into the air. In two parts. Her upper body went in one direction, her lower body in another. She heard Sister Paints With No Brush retching. She couldn't fault her; her own stomach was roiling like a stormy sea.

"I need to find a templar," Joss muttered, turning away from her old, now severed, friend.

"Yes, before you become possessed," Wynne agreed quietly. _Well aren't you a little ray of golden sunshine. _

It was good to see Godwin finally come out of the closet. With him was Ser Devon, a templar of middling years and equally middling appearance. They looked sheepish and just a bit embarrassed but Joss did not want to know what they had been doing in the armoire. Just as well, they didn't want to say, either.

"Ser Devon, I need you to smite me," Joss began and then giggled. She clapped a hand over her mouth. This was not funny. This was absolutely not funny. But her giggles escaped again, like bubbles caught in a breeze. Damn it.

Devon, looking bemused and bewildered, obliged her. Without warning. The bastard. She went ass over tea kettle, literally. He gave her an apologetic smile and helped her up. "Sorry about that."

And then they were on their way again, Devon reluctantly accompanying them. Godwin had given them a timid wave and gone back into his closet. There was a part of Joss that envied the man.

They cleared the second and third floor. Joss had finally stopped counting the number of friends that had become ensorcelled or possessed or killed outright. Her brain was wavering between a high thin wail and being completely numb.

On the fourth floor, they found Hendricks, a handsome templar with thick brown hair and a matching goatee and eyes that always reflected a wry longing. He had been a sweet man, never abusive and had never forsaken his vows. Never. Until the Desire Demon got her nipple clamps into him. Damn it.

Just before she killed him, she thought she saw a flash of gratitude in his eyes, but that was probably wishful thinking. She had no choice. She knew it. Knowing it did nothing to alleviate the twisting pain she felt at killing him. Devon, with a howl of outrage, ran the Desire Demon through with his Sword of Mercy and then yanked it out to run her through again. Several times. His tears never fell, but Joss could feel them nonetheless.

Devon pushed open the door to the last room on the east side of the fourth floor and right into the grubby hands of a Sloth Demon.

Joss had only enough time to notice that Niall was lying on the floor, unconscious. He was fueling the Sloth Demon's Fade world. That was not good. Not good at all. Joss took a step back.

"Don't feed the demon!" she cried out but already the others were falling into a Sloth induced nap. She felt her limbs gain weight, her eyelids as heavy as lead. She tried to move and it was like walking in honey. She sighed, closing her eyes. To the Fade then, she thought sleepily.

The raw Fade was an ugly, shapeless and brown place. Joss wandered it for only moments before she found what she was looking for. Leave it to a Sloth Demon to be too lazy to come up with a dream she would actually want to stay in. Duncan? Really? Laughable! Or it would be if Joss knew where the others were. She made her way up the long and winding path to the soaring white edifice of what could only be Weisshaupt. At least the Desire Demon in Redcliffe had tried to create a dream she would want to explore.

"Ah, Josslyn, there you are!" Duncan cried jovially. Really, such bad acting. Duncan was not a jovial man. He was a duty driven man, a serious man. This happy, whimsical version was almost sad and she felt oddly sorry for the indignity Duncan was suffering.

"Okay, this really is just horribly bad. You aren't Duncan. This isn't Weisshaupt. There are darkspawn to fight and I don't have time for this."

"Now my dear Josslyn, is that any way to greet your old friend?" Duncan asked, shaking his head sadly.

"Oh, just die, for Andraste's sake," Joss muttered, flinging a fireball at the faux Duncan. He was obliterated, his smile winking out like the sun passing behind a cloud. It was pathetic, really, how little effort the demon had put into the Fadescape she traveled in.

Niall was the next person she encountered. He was a pale version of himself. Not to say Niall was a bright spark to begin with but this was a Niall well and truly past all caring. He was resigned to his predicament.

"Andraste's bellybutton lint, Niall, you're feeding the demon! Snap out of it."

Of course he stared at her morosely and shrugged. "Easy for a demon hunter to say," he mumbled.

"Listen carefully, Niall. If you don't fight this, I'll make sure you have flaming red hair _everywhere_. Do you understand?"

Niall paled further, if that was possible, and nodded glumly. "I'll try."

She was off again, after giving Niall a reassuring hug.

The first companion she came across was Wynne. A young Wynne. A beautiful Wynne. Senior Enchanter Sweeney, looking surprisingly swoon-worthy as a young man, stood beside her and they were staring at a bundle of blankets, both of them cooing idiotically and happily at it. The bundle mewled and whimpered. So a living bundle. A child?

"Oh, Sweeney, he's lovely. I want to name him Todd," Wynne sighed happily. She stared up at Sweeney with puppy eyes.

Joss felt a bit nauseous. And angry with herself at the swell of sympathy she felt for Wynne. A child born in the tower was always taken away. A child born of two mages was likely a mage. Was her son here among the mages? Would she know? Joss sighed. Perhaps the Sloth Demon was not so lazy after all.

"Wynne, I'm sorry to interrupt such a tender scene but we need to shake a leg here. Demons to slay," Joss said, turning away from the tender tableau of mother, father and child.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Wynne hissed.

"So you know this is a demon driven dream and still you refuse to kill the demon that holds you here? I'm really not impressed by that," Joss retorted, swinging back around to face a very irate Wynne.

"Perhaps it's the demon inside you that compels you to stay?" Joss pushed relentlessly.

"I have no demon inside me, Josslyn. Only a benevolent spirit who is keeping me alive. Something you should be grateful for," Wynne replied with cold dignity.

"A spirit is just one angry, envious or evil thought away from a demon, Wynne. You, of all people, ought to know that."

That barb hit the target dead on and Wynne howled in outrage, turning on Sweeney and Todd. Within a matter of seconds both were demon corpses and Joss was moving on, knowing that every minute spent in the Fade was a minute taken away from Niall's lifespan.

She found Styx, sleeping contently. She knelt down and rested a hand on his bristly coat, thankful beyond measure that he was merely sleeping and not in a demon fueled nightmare. She wavered, the desire to curl up against his warm comfort almost overwhelming.

Reluctantly, she moved on, battling the minions sent to stop her, learning how to wield new forms and new powers as she searched for her friends and for the domain of the Sloth Demon keeping them in the Fade.

Devon was wearing the heavily ornamented plate armor of the Divine Templar. Joss snickered. The Divine Templar was the Divine's private templar, the most powerful templar of them all. Many a joke had been made at their expense. He was still mediocre in his heavy plate with the deep burgundy skirts and curlicues etched into his silverite breastplate. His hair was still too mousy and thin, his eyes still too watery and vague. But she admired his ambition. It wasn't until she threatened to tell everyone that she'd found him in a closet with Godwin that he snapped out of his stupor and helped her kill the Divine. Joss admitted only to herself how much she enjoyed that.

Dressed in pale blue silk and satin, wearing an egret feather in her carefully coifed hair, Leliana sat admiring her matching blue silk shoes, a ridiculous pair of shoes that seemed to be built on stilts. How did one walk in such contraptions? And why would one try? And who was the handsome man beside her in the black and silver velvet doublet? More importantly, who was the other woman who was sneaking up on the handsome man in the black and silver velvet doublet?

Three pairs of eyes turned toward Joss as she stood surveying the scene. Somewhere foreign, judging by the gilt furniture and heavy damask drapes. Much too frilly and frivolous for stout-hearted dog-loving Fereldans. Orlais? Probably. But why? What would a chantry sister be doing in a posh palace in Orlais? Obviously there was more to Sister Oblivious than Joss had originally thought.

It took some maneuvering and manipulation to get Leliana to understand that she'd had a vision of helping the Wardens save Fereldan from the Blight. "Nonsense, I would never become a lay sister. Their robes clash with my hair color," Leliana scoffed. "Marjolaine, tell this pathetically dressed creature I would never do such a thing," she added, turning to the other woman.

"Of course you wouldn't, my pet. Not unless I ordered you to," the woman purred. And so it was the woman, Marjolaine, who broke the sloth demon's hold on Leliana. Joss supposed she should stop fighting the woman long enough to thank her but she didn't get the chance. Leliana was all howling fury and incoherent prayers as she sank her dagger into Marjolaine's chest.

The actual Sloth Demon, now stripped of his various minions, died surprisingly quickly. Everyone fought with an intensity that Joss had not seen before and she could only attribute it to their own anger and having been duped by the demon in the first place. They woke in the room with Niall right after the demon had died. Niall was stirring, weak and gaunt from his ordeal, but alive.

"I was pretty sure I was a goner," he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. "But I couldn't have you send my corpse to my mother all covered in flaming red hair," he added with a hint of humor.

Joss sat down and began to laugh. It was hysteria, plain and simple, but she couldn't help herself. Niall joined her briefly before breaking off to stare at her in concern and fear. It wasn't until Devon hit her with a smite that she finally defeated the army of giggles

"Do that again and I'll make sure that every templar here knows you like to wear women's smalls," she growled at the templar.

"I do not!" he cried, blushing brightly.

"Yes, but who will they believe?" she replied, moving on.

Niall stayed where he was, hungrily eating a dried apple and some hard biscuits that Leliana had given him. Poor man hadn't eaten in over a week. Joss rethought her opinion of Niall. He was much stronger than she had ever given him credit for. He'd survived for over a week on nothing, feeding the frenzied dreams of that Sloth Demon.

Poor, sweet Cullen. They found him being held in a magical cage of some sort, one that Joss wasn't able to destroy. He was raving like a lyrium deprived templar. Well, he probably was lyrium deprived. He had also been tortured and tormented by desires, judging by the things he was saying. He'd never get over the embarrassment of rambling on about his sexual desire for Petra. Joss tried to talk sense into him but that was like trying to hold water in a sieve. Not very effective.

"You have to kill them all," he insisted.

Joss hadn't really given it much thought and with a groan, she sank onto the ground beside his pink cage. Had they really freed everyone they could? Would they have to kill everyone who was in the Harrowing Chamber with Uldred? She didn't mind killing Irving, really. He was old and weak to have let this happen to the tower. But the young mages? She shuddered at the thought.

"You're probably right, Cullen. I'll do what has to be done. Sit tight," Joss finally said, pulling herself up.

"Where would I go?" he replied dryly. Joss eyed him. When had he found a sense of humor? Where had he found one? Questions to be answered at a later time. There was a certain blood mage that needed killing.

Uldred was no longer a blood mage. He was, in fact, a very ugly and demented Pride Demon. Between reading from the Litany of Adralla and casting spells, Joss was sweating by the end of the fight. When the demon hit the ground, Joss did the same, exhausted.

Surveying the room, Joss shook her head in disgust. For as long as she lived she would never understand why people made deals with demons. It never worked in their favor. And what was she going to do with Wynne, now home to a spirit? And she wanted to wrap her hands around Irving's throat and squeeze the life out of him. He had been warned, more than once, that there was a faction of Libertarians that was fomenting rebellion. He had been warned that Jowan wasn't the only blood mage within the tower and the doddering old fool had ignored it all.

For the moment, Joss held her tongue. She looked around the chamber at the dead bodies, the dead demons, the filth and corruption staining every surface and wondered how the tower could recover. Or if it should even try.

"Look on the bright side," Sister Flies With One Wing chirped, "we can redecorate now, yes? The colors before were so drab."

Joss was too tired to laugh.


	9. Chapter 9

**So Long and Thanks For All the Mush**

The tower was a mess, both figuratively and literally. There were entrails hanging from every chandelier and grief hanging from every person in Kinloch Hold. For some reason Greagoir seemed to be looking to Joss for instructions. Obviously he had forgotten who the Knight Commander was. She, however, had not. She didn't have any deep and meaningful words of wisdom for him and she didn't want to help set things to rights. She wanted a long bath, a bottle of cognac and to sleep for a week, preferably in Teagan's massively huge and soft feather bed. She got none of the above.

Sitting at Irving's desk, she looked up to find Greagoir standing in the doorway, looking pensive. And older than moss. "You actually look good behind that desk," he remarked, entering the room.

Joss leapt to her feet and quickly spit three times between her fingers. "Are you trying to bring bad luck?" she asked, grinning self-consciously when he chuckled. She sank back into the chair.

"That's an old superstition. I didn't expect you'd buy into it," he replied, coming to sit in the chair opposite the desk.

The Hot Seat, they called it. When a naughty apprentice was called before Irving, he made them sit in the chair and then he gradually warmed it until the apprentice was squirming and sweating as Irving lectured the mage on their behavior. Joss and the chair were old friends. She wondered if she could make Greagoir squirm and then decided he'd squirmed enough in the past few days.

"How many?" she finally asked and it was a question she wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer to but felt compelled to ask.

"Forty two. Thirty one mages and eleven templars. Three senior enchanters, six enchanters, four mages and eighteen apprentices."

That was grim news and any grin Joss had been holding on to dropped to the floor, along with her stomach and heart. "You'll need to appoint a temporary First Enchanter until the Grand Cleric and the mages can hold a conclave."

"So, Ines, Wynne or Torrin?"

"Ines? Only if you put each apprentice in a pot of dirt and paint leaves on them," Joss replied dryly, thinking of the botanist who was better with plants than people.

"Wynne?"

"Andraste's flaming beard! Not Wynne!" Joss exclaimed, pounding the desk for emphasis. One steely grey eyebrow arched at her fervor and she sighed.

"I think that Wynne is now home to a Fade spirit," she explained quietly.

She hadn't thought Greagoir could turn any greyer but he did at that bit of news. Even his lips turned grey and for a minute Joss was sure he was about to keel over, slain by her revelation. That wasn't a happy thought. As much as he irritated her, she actually _liked _the man.

"Is she dangerous?" the Knight Commander finally managed to ask.

Interesting question. Was she? No more than she ever had been, Joss suspected. At least for now. But it was Wynne's own belief that she was always right, that her advice was the smartest, sanest and most sagacious, that would get the old woman into trouble. Any spirit was prone to becoming a demon at the emotional whim of its host.

"Not yet. I can't say how long that will remain true. As long as Wynne doesn't feed her spirit with negative thoughts, everything should be fine."

"Well, that's hardly reassuring. And that leaves us with Torrin."

Joss smiled. "Or Petra. She was about to become a senior Enchanter before I left. Had Irving not been slower than a turtle walking backwards, he would have made sure Petra was promoted. I suppose if I looked around his desk I might find some paperwork that he neglected to file," she added with a waggle of her eyebrows.

Greagoir shook his head. "Don't say another word, just bring me the paper should you _find _it," he said and stood. He paced nervously, which didn't calm Josslyn's own overwrought nerves. At all. She waited with dread for whatever it was that he was finding so difficult to put voice to.

"What do you propose I do about Wynne? She's a much beloved figure here. I can't just have her sent to Aeonar or worse. The mages here have had enough grief to last a lifetime and they don't need to be further upset. That more haven't lost their way during all of this is a miracle."

Miracle? After all that Greagoir had seen he still believed all mages were a temper tantrum away from abominations and that only the Maker kept them on the straight and narrow. Well, she thought wryly as she reflected on the carnage she'd been exposed to just hours earlier, his prejudices were not entirely ill-founded. Still, it irked her that he thought so little of the remaining mages. She scowled at him but he was busy staring at his hands. Her scowl faded and she tried to find one of her trusty smiles. Her pockets were empty.

At least she could answer his question if not remove his bias. She had already considered the problem of Wynne and her spirit and Joss was relieved that he hadn't asked her something truly heart wrenching, like how would they ever rebuild the tower and strengthen the Veil now that it was shredded to little bits. At least she had an answer for what to do with Wynne. What to do about the clean up and new personnel was a whole different kettle of fish. Ugh. Kettle of tea. That was better. No more fish. Ever.

"Send her with me. I'll keep an eye on her. Besides, we could use a healer. If the spirit becomes problematic, I'll deal with it."

"Just like that?" Greagoir asked suspiciously.

Joss held her hands over her heart dramatically. "Knight Commander, you wound me," she replied with a heavy sigh. "I do need a healer and I think she will do far less harm with me than left here. As much as I hate the thought of her unending lectures," she added with a twitch of lips.

The decision had not been easy to make. Joss had never cared that much for Wynne for all that she was a _much beloved_ figure in the tower. The woman got on her last nerve and then rode it relentlessly. But the wholly pragmatic side of Joss had a loud and insistent nature. Joss was no healer and neither were the two apostates now traveling with them. Holy Flames, wouldn't that send Wynne's knickers into knotted overdrive? Two apostates. There was, it seemed, more than one upside to taking Wynne with them.

After he left, Joss rifled through the papers on Irving's desk and then opened a drawer. A large black grimoire sat there, a temptation that was irresistible to Joss. She removed it and opened it. The grimoire was the property of Flemeth. Joss looked around surreptitiously and when she was sure she was alone, she slipped the grimoire into her pack. Reading material for a time when she could ensure her privacy. A tower was not such a place. Of course hiding it from Morrigan was going to be an adventure all of its own, but a fun one, Joss decided with a devious grin.

An hour later found her marching off in search of Greagoir with the newly _discovered_ documents on Petra's promotion to the ranks of Senior Enchanter. Only an expert would be able to tell that Irving's signature had been forged. Luckily the Grand Cleric was as blind as a billy goat…and rather looked like one as well.

Greagoir was two sheets to the wind, or possibly three, sitting behind his large desk. He gave her a lopsided smile as she entered his austere office. Papers were scattered across the top of the desk and the air reeked of whiskey. So did Greagoir. In all of her years in the tower she had never seen him drink at all. Not even the plum wine they made each year. Nothing. No alcohol that she could recall. To see him howling at the moon drunk was…scary in a humorous way.

"I found some Nevarran whiskey. Want a nip?" he asked, waving the bottle in her direction. Did he want her to swig it from the bottle? Apparently so as no glass seemed to be forthcoming.

"Didn't figure you for a woman in need of the niceties," he slurred as she hesitated. She wasn't even sure what he'd meant by that remark but she took the bottle and gulped some whiskey. And spluttered. And choked. And coughed. Her eyes watered.

"That's not Nevarran whiskey, that's Uncle Joe's backyard still-made whiskey," she finally managed, wiping at her streaming eyes. "Aged for a week. At most."

Greagoir made a noise that sounded very much like a giggle but, as it was Greagoir and not some young mageling, she decided it was probably a snort and not a giggle. She eyed him warily and then took a step away from him. He waved the bottle at her again but before she could take it, he brought it to his lips and took another long pull, smacking his lips afterwards. That man was going to be hurting in the morning. She hid a grin behind her hand.

"I _found_ the paperwork on Petra. Perhaps you'd best wait until tomorrow to share the good news," Joss told him when she trusted her voice not to shake with laughter. She put the paperwork on his desk, well away from his wildly gesticulating arm.

"Perfect. Now, about Niall," he began and gave a little hiccup. Joss bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing out loud. Inside she was rolling on the floor, laughing hysterically. She'd never seen Greagoir do more than smile dryly once in a while. To hear his giddy giggles made her want to crow in delight. She thought he might smite her if she did so she did her best to hold her laughter back.

"Yes?" she prodded when he fell silent, staring at her as if she was a complete stranger.

"Yes? Yes what?" he asked, blearily eyeing her.

"What about Niall?" she prompted.

"Who?" he asked, frowning in concentration.

Joss shook her head. "Oh just hand me the bottle and let's go to bed," she finally said, exasperated.

Greagoir blushed. She'd never seen him do that before and it was a remarkably bright shade of red rushing pell-mell into his cheeks. She snorted back her laughter. He had obviously misunderstood her.

"I – I'm flattered, Josslyn, but really I can't do that. I don't think I'm that drunk," he mumbled. Ouch. Not a response any woman ever wanted to hear, even from a templar.

"Wow, thank you Greagoir. Nobody's ever turned me down with such charm and finesse," she groused, watching as he struggled to both stand up and let go of the chair arms at the same time. He seemed unable to do both. If he stood, he held on. When he let go, he sat back down. She watched him repeat the moves several times before going around the desk to help him. He flung an arm around her shoulders and she staggered from the unexpected weight of Greagoir in heavy plate.

They stumbled down the hallway a short distance and Joss was profoundly glad that they didn't encounter anyone. Once he was stretched out on his narrow bed, she tiptoed toward the door.

"About your brother," he began and she halted, hand on the doorknob, shoulders tensing.

"Don't," she began with a sigh. Why did drunks always want to talk about the worst possible things at the worst possible times? Was there something inherent in alcohol that forced them to do so?

"I didn't…I wish there had been…"

"Shut. Up," she growled and cast a sleep spell on him, thankful when she heard a soft snore. She slipped into the corridor and shut the door softly behind her. He was going to be in all kinds of pain in the morning. Served the old bugger right.

She found Styx, curled up in front of the fire in Irving's relatively clean office, and she settled down beside him, resting her head on his softly furred side. Closing her eyes, she promptly fell asleep.

* * *

Most of the tower survivors were in the apprentice's dining hall the following morning. Up on the menu? Gruel. Served with copious amounts of…more gruel. Apparently the cooks had fallen victim to the mage revolt as well. It seemed even the undercook had perished in the uprising.

"What is this _mush_?" Sister One Pear Short of a Tart asked, a moue of distaste wrinkling her brow. Were those moues an Orlesian thing? Isolde's had been nearly as impressive as Leliana's. Joss wasn't sure she could even shape her mouth in that way. It actually looked rather painful.

Greagoir, moaning softly into his morning tea, didn't bother to hide his grimace as she greeted him with a cheerfully loud voice. That would teach him to bring up Joseph. There were some things even Joss would not talk about and Joseph was one of them. She thought about casting a rejuvenation spell on the poor old templar but opted for a second helping of the mush.

The day was quickly getting away from her. She made a comment to that effect and Sister Bakes With No Oven looked up from her novel. "The Revered Mother once told me that time is an illusion. Lunchtime doubly so." And that certainly explained a great deal about Leliana. The Revered Mother was responsible for Leliana being loony. Or had Leliana driven the Revered Mother loony? Either way they were a pair.

The harder she tried to collect her companions and leave, the more obstacles were thrown in her way. Lunch came, another large helping of gruel, with dried apricots this time. Joss wondered briefly if the gray spots on the apricots were supposed to be there and then quickly decided she didn't want to know.

She noticed, with a pang of sadness, that two new templars stood guard at the main barrier doors. It seemed so strange not to see Bran and Stoker standing there exchanging barbs like any old married couple. It was heartbreaking and yet it set the tone for the other changes taking place within the tower. She recognized Douglas but for the life of her, she didn't know the shorter, bow-legged templar who stood watch with him.

"Hello, I'm Josslyn Amell. Who are you?" she asked the man. He wasn't wearing his bucket and his sheaf of wheat colored hair was falling into his grey eyes. He smiled up at her. "Adams," he said cheerfully. That was a bit of a worry. She couldn't imagine what there was to be cheerful about but as it was better than the wailing and whining going on in other parts of the tower, she didn't complain.

Petra was petrified of becoming the First Enchanter. She stood on the threshold of her new office and shook her head, unwilling to take another step forward. Joss gave her a shove and Petra stumbled into the room, tossing a small jolt of electricity at Joss. Joss grinned, unrepentant.

"As your first act as First Enchanter, I would ask that you release Niall from the tower. I need him to watch over Arl Eamon while I go digging around for some cold ashes," Joss said, sitting in the Hot Seat. She wasn't surprised to find it was actually cold at the moment. Petra had always preferred cold spells to heat waves.

Petra frowned. "Seriously? I kind of need him here to help clean up," she argued and then shrugged. "Although getting away from here might be a good idea. He keeps looking over his shoulder and mumbling about things being colder than a witch's teat. Not sure what that even means."

"Greagoir will insist a templar accompany him. Try to talk him into sending Bran. I can't stand to see Bran wandering the halls waiting for Stoker's return," Joss replied, ignoring the whole witch's anatomy thing.

"I'm sorry, Joss. For a wild moment there I thought I was the new First Enchanter," Petra retorted and Josslyn's seat became several degrees colder.

"Oh, right. Sorry, First Enchanter Petra. I await your command."

Petra snorted indelicately. "You've never waited for anyone's command. And as much as I hate to admit it, sending poor Bran is a good idea. Now get out and let me get to work," she said, puffing her chest out in mocking self-importance.

"A little power and boom, straight to your head," Joss grumbled as she made her way out of the office.

Niall was thrilled with the idea of leaving the tower, at least temporarily and Bran seemed resigned to wherever the fates blew him. She spent the rest of the afternoon packing before penning a letter to Teagan.

The letter practically wrote itself but the salutation gave her fits. How did she address someone she barely knew but had slept with? For that matter, how did one address a noble? Ser? Sire? Your Nobleness? She crumpled up yet another vellum and sighed. For the love of the Maker's undershorts, why was it so difficult? Finally she decided on the direct route.

_Teagan,_

_I am sending Niall and Ser Bran to help with the arl's care. Well, Niall is there to care for him, Bran is there to watch over Niall. Please be kind to Niall, he has been through an ordeal. In fact, things in the tower were not as I expected but I'll let Niall explain the situation here._

_We leave for Denerim this evening. With luck we'll reach the city within ten day. Hopefully the good Brother Genitivi will be standing around his home waiting for us. I suspect that won't be the case as nothing has gone according to plan yet. If it were to suddenly start I would probably not trust it. Did that make sense? Oh well, I rarely do, best you know that right up front… _

Here Joss paused. Now how should she close the letter? Andraste's armpits, did she have nothing better to do than worry about such trivial things? Apparently not as she continued to sit and contemplate the perfect closing phrase. Another three sheets of vellum later, she finally copied the entire letter over again on a less ink-splotched vellum and signed it simply "Joss" and hoped he wouldn't think she was a complete idiot. Which she was. The Blight, the tower in ruins and danger at every turn and she was worried about what to write to Teagan?

The dinner bell sounded and Joss quickly sealed the letter and headed for the dining hall, where yet another cast iron pot of mush was waiting. This time there was stringy, cold mutton to go with it and Joss, stomach tossing about like a deckhand on a heaving sea, pushed the grey meat aside. Was everything grey? Even the gruel looked a bit grey now that she actually examined it. She put her bowl down next to Styx who refused to eat it, turning his nose up and sniffing disdainfully.

Greagoir was saying something to her but she couldn't hear over the somber voices of those gathered around the long table. She shook her head and cupped her ear. He spoke again but she still couldn't hear him.

"What?" she fairly shouted over the sea of babbling fish around her.

"I just wanted to thank you for taking me to bed last night! It was just what I needed!" Greagoir shouted into a sudden lull. The silence settled like low lying fog, broken only by a gasp from Sister One String Short of a Lute. Wynne's lecture would be forthcoming, Joss was sure, but she couldn't bring herself to care. The once somber mood had vanished, chased into the shadows by the merriment that followed Greagoir's announcement. It felt good to laugh again, even if it was at her expense. Well, wasn't it usually?

An hour later found Joss, Wynne, Leliana and Styx standing in front of the massive doors that led out to the dock and freedom. Niall and Bran were leaving for Redcliffe the following morning. She was once again leaving her home and this time she was glad to be going. It was true, what they said. You can't go home again. Her trip to the tower had certainly proven that old adage.

Good-byes had never been her strong suit and as the survivors of the tower came to see her off, she discovered she was still lousy at them. Greagoir bowed stiffly as she hefted her pack onto her shoulder.

"May the Maker go with you, Joss," he said solemnly. Yes, because clearly the Maker had been with her every step of the way, which explained how easy the journey had been so far. Well, it wasn't Greagoir's fault he believed and she didn't. She smiled slightly, reaching for something profound to say.

"So long, Greagoir, and thanks for all the…mush," she finally uttered and with that, stepped out into the shadows cast by the tower.


	10. Chapter 10

**As the Crow Flies**

Walking was tediously boring work. Pick one foot up, put it down, pick the other foot up and put it down. Onward, along dusty roads in the blazing sun. What wasn't to love about that? Joss noticed sourly that Morrigan shapeshifted into a bird whenever she got too bored and for a split second, Joss contemplated learning how to shapeshift into a bird as well but really, black wasn't her color and she wasn't sure feathers would be very becoming either.

At midday they stopped to eat and Joss made the mistake of asking to see the map. She stared at it for a long time but it made no sense to her. At all. She said as much to Alistair who launched into a dissertation on the merits of map reading. The more Alistair waved the map in her face, the more frustrated she became. Who decided on these names and where a road should or shouldn't be? And what did a crow have to do with a map? She rubbed her forehead, pushing her sweat dampened hair away from her eyes. She was an intelligent woman, she ought to be able to figure out a damned map!

They sat on a moss covered tree that had fallen with lazy abandon by the side of the broad brown road. The North Road, Alistair insisted on calling it, when clearly they were heading _east_. Was she the only one who saw an error in judgment by naming it the North Road? And why was he nattering on about crows?

"What does that even mean? How could anyone possibly know how a crow flies, let alone where it flies? _As the crow flies_?" she asked, slapping at the map again.

"Geez, you'd think you'd spent your life in a tower or something," Alistair teased, his good humor refusing to budge under her assault. "As the crow flies means in a straight line. You know…the shortest path between two points?"

"Smug little man," she hissed, feeling incredibly stupid, a rare and not altogether pleasant experience. She slapped him upside the head with a cold spell, mild enough to be irritating but not painful. He waggled his brows and she was certain he would smite her if she continued using magic on him. She returned to the map.

"And why is this called the North Road when it clearly runs east and west? And the West Road? More south than west. Who named these roads?" she continued, waving an arm at the dusty path they had been walking on just moments earlier. They were traveling east, to Denerim. They were not walking north. Or south. Or west. It made no sense to her at all.

"How do I know who named them? The North Road is so named because it's in northern Ferelden," he replied somewhat smugly.

"So why is the West Road _so named_? It isn't in western Ferelden. It's in southern Ferelden and it travels in a southwesterly direction. Why not the Southwestern Road? Or the Maric Memorial Byway? Or Loghain Lane?"

Wynne looked up from her sewing, something ever present with the older woman. Josslyn's hip kit contained potions, vials, a few neatly folded bandages, a poultice and a sprig of dried mint. Wynne's contained needles and pins and various colored flosses and threads. Not helpful in the event of an injury but very grandmotherly of her and extremely handy if Joss ever got a tear in her woolen stockings.

"I suggest we finish our meal and continue on," Wynne remarked, crisp and cool like an autumn morning.

Joss ignored her, turning to look at Morrigan. "Say, you're a crow, Morri. Do you fly in a straight line?"

With her golden glare focused sharply on Josslyn, Morrigan spoke with all the haughty ice of a noble lady. "I'm a raven, not a crow and 'tis none of your business how I fly," she replied with cold disdain.

Crow; raven. They were both black birds who ate dead animals by the side of the road. What did it matter? Was one more regal than the other? Somehow Joss couldn't picture that being the case. "Thanks for clearing that up," Joss said smartly and stood, shaking the bread crumbs from her robe.

"If a crow flies straight between two points why aren't we walking in a straight line to Denerim?" Joss asked, thinking she would stump Alistair with that mind-boggling logic.

"Because we'd be tromping across property owned by the banns and arls. They get really grumpy when people do that without permission. Plus, if the rumors are true, there's a civil war going on in the Bannorn. We probably don't want to walk into the middle of it," Alistair replied with just a bit too much smugness for Josslyn's liking. She hit him with another tiny little cold spell. He glared at her and raised his arms. She grinned, unrepentant.

The day was getting away from them and, while Joss would have been content to sit for the remainder of the day, they had places to go and people to see. Sitting on a log by the side of the road didn't get them any closer to Denerim. She sighed before slipping her pack onto her shoulder.

"I hate to say it but we do need to put foot to path and make haste," Joss said, quoting a line from a romance novel she had recently read about a roguish rogue and a sweet young maiden who enjoyed cheesy lines. She had loaned it to Alistair and he had yet to return it. _He's probably rereading the steamy bits_.

Looking around at her companions, she spied Jowan, who was remarkably quiet as he sat eating the last of his dry biscuits and grapes. Joss wondered if he would ever forgive himself. His shoulders drooped and his pale eyes refused to meet anyone's gaze. Wynne certainly hadn't helped. When the old healer had seen him the night before, she had rained a lecture down on him to rival any spring thunderstorm. Joss had finally yanked Wynne aside.

"You are not in charge here. You are not even second or third in command. You are here by my good graces so I suggest you save your lectures until I give you permission to give them. Don't expect that will be in this lifetime."

Wynne hadn't appreciated that bit of news. "He is a blood mage, he consorts with demons."

"And you, Wynne, consort with a spirit. How much of your anger or vanity or conceit will it take for the spirit to become a demon, do you suppose? I'm glad to have your healing abilities but don't think for even a minute that I won't cut you down should your spirit become less than friendly," Joss had replied with more venom than she would have liked. Venom only added to the poisonous relationship they already had.

Wynne's face had paled and her nostrils had flared but she'd held her tongue, much to Josslyn's surprise. Wynne had never been known for her ability to refrain from adding her own comments to any situation. With a shrug, Joss had gone back to her bedroll and slammed her eyes shut. It was going to be a very long Blight at the rate things were going.

The group was mostly quiet as they walked along the road. She could hear Cathair murmuring softly to Jowan but other than the occasional snort from Jowan in reply, it was relatively quiet. Joss tried to listen to the conversation but, short of cupping her ear and slowing her steps to eavesdrop, she couldn't understand a word that was spoken. And after the previous evening's debacle with Greagoir she wasn't about to cup her ear and claim she couldn't hear.

Evidently, not all crows flew. Late in the afternoon they came across a weeping woman who begged for help. Joss was immediately irritated. Could no-one in the entire land help themselves? Did everyone assume the Archdemon would just hang around and wait for her to gather together an army to fight it? But Alistair flashed his best puppy eyes at her and so off they went, following the distraught woman down a narrow lane. Right into a trap.

The tree should have crushed her but Joss felt Jowan's spell wrap around her and hurl her out of the way. She landed with a bone jarring, breath departing _thunk_. He was right behind her and landed in the dirt next to her. Dirt was not edible. It was never meant to be and Joss sat up, sputtering. Which made the dirt faintly muddy. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and stood, readying a ferocious tempest over the group of thugs. Of course Alistair got caught in it as well. He was not happy. At. All. Joss thought he looked kind of cute with his hair standing on end from the electrical charge in the air.

Highwaymen? Bandits? Loghain's bounty hunters? Just ill tempered travelers? Joss could understand if they were the latter. She wasn't in a happy mood either. Her blisters had decided to have twins. Whoever they were, Joss wanted to talk to one of them, to chew them out if nothing else.

"Keep someone alive!" she called over the roar of her storm. Best find out just why they felt compelled to attack a perfectly nice Grey Warden intent on ending the Blight.

Alistair nodded in acknowledgement and reached down, lifting an elf off the ground and tossing him toward Joss, who had heard of dwarf tossing but never elf tossing. She watched with a bemused expression as the attractive elf hit the ground at her feet. His eyes were closed but Joss nudged him with her boot and he stirred. Realizing he wasn't dead, she went back to casting, ignoring the man for the time being.

When the last bandit had fled or was dead, Joss knelt down beside the blonde elf and poured a fair amount of water over his face. He sputtered and his eyes opened, blinking rapidly.

"I am not dead?" he asked with a thick accent. Not Orlesian, but Joss had no idea where he was from. "I rather thought I would wake up that way."

"Not yet. Soon, should you make me angry," Joss promised brightly, prodding him in the ribs. He winced as he sat up.

"Ah, torture first. I think I like your style, my lovely Warden," he remarked with a leer. Ah, so he knew who he had attacked. That meant he wasn't just a grouchy traveler.

"Good, then you won't mind my restraining you," she replied, nodding to Randal. Randal moved forward, handing Joss a roughly woven rope, guaranteed to chafe and rub.

"Mmmm, I rather prefer the softer methods, but I am willing enough to try something more _Fereldan,_" the elf said, his leer becoming even more suggestive.

At least he has a sense of the ridiculous, Joss thought with a barely contained grin. "Yes, well, I'm fresh out of velvet lined cuffs and feather boas," she said, quickly wrapping the rope around his wrists. Which struck her as ludicrous. She unwound the rope and tossed it aside before casting a ward on the ground in front of him.

"You are welcome to try to escape but that ward will toss you into the ravine back there. And none too gently."

"You are not what I expected," the elf said with a broad grin. He let his eyes wander freely from her toes to her nose, stopping at certain points in between for a deeper perusal. She quirked a brow at him.

"What were you expecting? A woman in silks plying a tapestry needle?"

"Hmmm, there is a picture worth admiring. But no."

Joss raised a brow and tapped her foot, the obvious signal that she was waiting impatiently for more information. The elf did not keep her waiting long.

"He told me to look for a slack-jawed, whiny man with dirty blonde hair and an older, drab woman with red hair, who was smarter than she looked." There was something familiar about that phrase. She frowned. Loghain Mac Tir. Lightning. Ah yes, she remembered her first night at Ostagar. He really did carry a grudge too far.

"What? I do not have a slack jaw!" Alistair complained in outrage and then looked at Joss. "Do I?"

She'd never seen a man with a firmer jaw than Alistair but he was missing the point. She smiled reassuringly. "And I don't have red hair so obviously this elf attacked the wrong people."

With a chuckle, the elf shook his head. "If you are the Wardens, I made no mistake. Believe me, Zevran Arainai does not make mistakes." And he said that with a straight face even though Joss and Alistair had captured him. Didn't he consider that a mistake?

"However, the man who hired me, for a great deal of gold I might add, was obviously not a very observant man. Anyone can see your hair is auburn, and there is nothing drab about you, my lovely Warden."

Ah, flattery. The universal currency. Joss smiled. "Yet you are still in trouble," she replied quietly.

"Of course. I suppose you wish to know who hired me and then you'll do something truly grizzly with me, yes? Perhaps painful too," he added roguishly.

"That depends on what you have to say, little man," Joss retorted. He winced.

"Ah, a sharp tongue. Loghain did not warn me of that."

Chuckling now, Joss sat down beside him. "So, who are you and why does Loghain want us dead? I can understand him being a bit irritated with us, but to hire an assassin? I can't imagine that tightwad hiring anyone for any amount of coin," she said and the elf laughed again.

"Believe me, my dear woman, he paid quite handsomely. I, of course, am now in the awkward position of having failed to kill you. Unless you are willing to allow this now?" Zevran asked hopefully.

"Sure, why not? Alistair, be a good man and hand Zevran Arainai your sword. He can finish the job and be on his merry way," Joss responded with a chuckle.

Alistair snorted, his hand resting on his hilt. "Are you sure? I mean, stopping the Blight is going to be just that much harder if we're both dead."

It was Josslyn's turn to snort. When had Alistair developed a sense of fun and a bit of starch? She liked this new side of him and gave him a wink. "So? We'll be dead, what will it matter to us?"

"This is hardly the time for humor," Wynne snapped waspishly.

"True. We have an assassin in our midst. What will you do if we let you go?" Joss asked the elf with the golden hair and golden brown eyes. He really was gorgeous in a dangerous way. He was also as smooth as polished marble. And probably twice as slick, Joss thought wryly.

"Go? You wish to let me go?" he asked, eyes widening in surprise. "Why not allow me to travel with you? I will quite happily warm you bed, feed you grapes or even fight for you, if you feel it is necessary."

"I don't really like grapes, I have Styx to warm my bed and why would you want to fight for me? Weren't you intent on killing me just minutes ago?" Joss asked dibelievingly, raising a brow.

"Styx is a very lucky man. Perhaps I shall challenge him to a duel, a fight for you, no? What woman can resist men fighting over the honor of bedding her?" Zevran asked with a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Styx would chew you up and spit you out before you could unsheathe your…weapon," Joss replied with a small smile. Styx growled, moving over to sniff at the elf and bare his teeth in a very unfriendly smile.

"Zevran, meet Styx," she added and her smile grew when the elf paled underneath his tanned skin. Still, with aplomb to spare, he reached out and rubbed Styx between the eyes.

"A pleasure, Styx. Should you ever tire of sleeping at the Warden's side, rest assured I shall be pleased to do so."

Styx let out a playful "woof" at that and proceeded to lick Zevran's face with great enthusiasm. So much for my great protector, Joss thought with wryly. She'd never heard of anyone being licked to death by a mabari.

"Fine, swear you won't try to kill me and you're welcome to come along and help us on our great quest to save mankind," Joss said but before Zevran the Assassin could swear such an oath, Alistair grabbed her arm and dragged her away from the group surrounding the elf.

"Are you insane? You want to bring this assassin, the one who was going to kill us, along?" Alistair asked, much aggrieved. His voice was so loud and high that Joss was left to wonder why he had dragged her away from the others in the first place. People in Denerim could probably hear his shouting. "Because, you know, he could be lying to lull us into a false sense of security just to stab us in the back when we aren't looking."

Joss stared at him, trying very hard not to laugh. She heard Zevran sigh. "Had I been able to overhear your whispering, I am sure I would be offended," he remarked. Joss ignored him but it wasn't easy to suppress the laughter welling up in her.

"Alistair, we have a sister of the chantry who can put an arrow between a man's eyes from one hundred paces but has visions from _the Maker_ and isn't exactly paddling her canoe with both oars. In fact, she's paddling them with a blue satin shoe and a hairbrush while chanting the canticles.

"And then we have a kindly old woman, white haired and sweet, who is actually an old crone housing a spirit. A spirit, I might add, that could go rogue at any time, with very little effort. And the woman carries _darning materials_ in place of medical supplies in her kit but claims to be a healer.

"We have a blood mage who was afraid he would be made tranquil because he couldn't learn normal mage spells so he talked a demon into teaching him how to cast really, really nasty spells and yet is still likely to be made tranquil, if not killed outright, for being a maleficar. He is afraid of his own shadow but not afraid to consort with demons.

"And we have an apostate shapeshifter whose mother is not _a_ Witch of the Wilds but _the_ Witch of the Wilds. Maker only knows why she was so willing to send her daughter with us but I can guarantee Morri isn't along to bake brownies for us.

"So yes, the assassin seems the sanest of the lot, at least at the moment. He comes with us and if he tries anything, he'll have a matching tattoo on the other side of his face. One put there by my fire spell."

Oddly, Alistair didn't continue protesting. He shrugged and said, "Okay, but if he decides to fulfill the contract he has with Loghain I'm going to say _I told you so_."

As they would both be dead if Zevran decided to fulfill his contract, Joss didn't bother to argue with him. "Fair enough."

They made their way back to the group and she offered Zevran her hand. He held it too long, caressing it lightly before bending at the waist and proclaiming his loyalty to her. She wondered how long it would take for her to regret her decision. He was already best friends with Styx and well on his way to charming the spirit out of Wynne. She wondered if he had any idea how close he came to the truth with the magical bosom remark he'd made to Wynne while waiting to hear what would happen to him.

"So, where are you from Zevran Arainai? Certainly not from around here."

"I am an Antivan Crow," he replied with great national pride. "Naturally I come from Antiva, as all Antivan Crows do."

_Oh great, another crow._ "And do you fly straight?" she asked with a sassy grin.

"Straight, bent, whatever the situation calls for. I am quite talented in that regard, my lovely Warden," he purred in his thickly accented and highly suggestive voice. "Do you have a preference?" he leered.

Smooth as polished marble and twice as slick; just as she'd thought. But she was laughing as they continued traveling east on the North Road. And then it struck her. Forcefully. Right in the stomach. She wasn't interested in him. At all. Oh sure, to pal around with but not in a "lets go to bed and screw each other blind" way.

Normally she would have exchanged a litany of sexual innuendo with him by now. He was a master at it and she had been considered quite accomplished in that area as well. Yet now she found she wasn't interested. Oh Maker's left nut! She was…she was turning monogamous! Joss nearly stumbled and tripped over her own feet as the thought struck her.

Damn it all, next she would imagine herself in love. Of all the fool notions.

"Zevran, I think maybe you should kill me after all," Joss sighed disconsolately as they continued along the dusty road.


	11. Chapter 11

**Raspberry Fields Forever**

Getting up early had never been Josslyn's strong suit; at least not while living the soft life in the tower. However, sleeping on the hard ground made it much easier for her to rise early. She rose before dawn and started the fire before filling the pot and hanging it over the mellow flames. She sat and watched the pot as it hung on the green branch over the fire, slowly heating her tea water. Everyone else appeared to still be asleep and she enjoyed the quiet arrival of dawn.

"Ah, my lovely Warden, I did not expect you to be a watcher," Zevran purred, coming to sit beside her.

"Hmmm, you would prefer I use a little magic to help things along?" she responded with a wicked smile.

"And why not? A bit of heat would be most welcome, no?" he replied, his own smile now a leer, his voice oozing innuendo. She really did enjoy talking with Zevran with his obvious charm and sexuality. There was a sweet subtlety to him as well.

"There is a greater satisfaction in watching it warm gradually, don't you think? That anticipation heightens the pleasure once it's done, I find."

"Yes, I see what you mean, definitely more pleasurable," Zevran murmured warmly.

"Stop! Stop talking about…about what you're talking about!" Alistair hissed loudly, struggling out of his tent still buckling into his cuirass. Scarlet suffused his face, his ears, and even his neck.

Hiding a grin, Joss turned to him to ask innocently, "We aren't allowed to discuss how slowly the pot is heating water for my tea? Honestly, Alistair, what did you think we were talking about?"

Alistair spluttered and, though Joss didn't think it possible, he turned an even darker shade of red. Muttering about evil mages and wicked assassins, he stalked down to the creek without looking at either of them.

"Chantry raised," she explained to a puzzled Zevran.

"More's the pity," he replied with a disappointed sigh.

"Hmmm, I expected you to be the kind who enjoys a challenge."

"There are some challenges worth the effort. Others add only complications."

That was certainly true, Joss thought with a glum smile. She missed Teagan. Which was foolish and impractical since she would be traipsing around the countryside for Maker knew how long. He was a complication. A gorgeous one. A sexy one. But a complication. Sighing, she made her way over to her tent and ducked in, wondering for a moment if she should pay a visit to Teagan in the Fade some night soon. He needed to know a few things about her if he was seriously serious about her. Rolling up her bedding, she tied it and tossed it outside and joined it, crawling out of her tent on her hands and knees, right into a pair of sturdy legs.

"Uh, hello?"

Sighing, Joss looked up to meet the eyes of a stranger. In their camp. With nobody raising an alarm of any kind. Even Styx was snoring with great relish. As a watchdog he failed miserably. As a pillow and blanket rolled into one he was amazing.

"Good morning. I'm Josslyn Amell. I trust you aren't a bounty hunter or tax collector?" she said, standing and brushing her robe off.

"I'm Levi Dryden. Did Duncan ever mention me? Levi the trader, Levi of the coin?"

"You're a traitor? And knew Duncan? That's surprising," Joss blurted out, folding her arms across her chest and staring at the tall ox of a man with the prominent chin and oddly bashful smile.

"No, no, not a traitor, a trader."

"Isn't that what I said?" Joss asked with a frown.

"I'm a merchant. Someone who trades with people."

"Right, I knew that. And I'm sure he probably did mention you but my mind's been kind of focused on survival and the Blight lately. What brings you to the middle of nowhere, Levi Dryden?"

Of course he needed a favor. It wasn't as if anyone ever stopped them to give them money, or a hot meal or even a how-dee-do. They always wanted something from her group, as if saving their worthless hides from the darkspawn weren't a big enough _something_.

The trouble with his request was that it might actually be beneficial to them. An old Warden keep, hopefully with a chest full of secrets on how to initiate new Wardens, and surprisingly not that far away. The opportunity was too good to pass up.

Starting off with a spry step an hour later, Joss let Alistair and Levi take the lead. Naturally Zevran fell into step beside her. Cathair and Randal took up the rear guard. Wynne, Jowan, Leliana and Morrigan walked along silently and Styx bounced between everyone, looking for love.

"So, how long is it?" Joss asked conversationally.

"Long enough that I do not receive complaints, my dear Warden."

"May I see it?"

"You wish to see it now? Here?" Zevran asked, surprise and delight mingling together.

"Unless you're shy about showing it off?" Joss asked, grinning.

"Never, my lovely woman," Zevran reassured with an answering grin.

"Oh my, it is long, isn't it? May I touch it?"

"You I will even allow to stroke it," he purred in reply.

"Stop! Maker's breath, just stop talking about it!" Alistair cried, stopping and turning to face them. His face was once again stained with a deep red blush. "Can't you two have a normal conversation?" he continued, glaring at them.

"We aren't allowed to discuss his weapon?" Joss asked with feigned innocence.

Alistair spluttered and shook his head. "His _weapon_? Is that what you call it?" he asked in a curiously high squeak of a voice.

"What would you call it? Here, look for yourself," Joss said kindly.

"Holy Maker, don't show me your _weapon_, Zevran!" Alistair blurted out, eyes wide in horror.

"Alistair, what is the matter with you? We're just talking about the length of his…" Joss broke in but Alistair cut her off. The entire entourage was now grouped around them.

"I don't care about his length. I don't want to stroke it or see it or…"

"His dagger, Alistair. We're discussing his dagger," Joss interrupted with a snicker. "What in Thedas did you think we were discussing?"

"I – I thought – I hate you, Josslyn Amell," he responded, rubbing the back of his neck, his face scarlet.

"I know. But you love me in equal measure so I'll survive," Joss said and started off down the road again, feeling not even a flicker of guilt.

They made it to the underground tunnels early in the afternoon. "You never mentioned tunnels. As in dark, with cobwebs and spiders and things that go slithering around your ankles in the dark, tunnels," Joss complained, her voice nearly as high and squeaky as Alistair's had been earlier in the day.

"Do not worry, Josslyn, the Maker will protect you," Sister One Apple Shy of a Pie reassured.

Unless the Maker traveled ahead of them killing spiders and creepy crawly things and clearing the tunnels of spider webs, Joss was not, in fact, reassured. At. All. Still, she needed to get into the old keep and try to find some Grey Warden records. Surely they kept such things?

They set up camp at the entrance to the tunnels and Joss decided that only the Grey Wardens and the Grey Warden recruits would go into the keep. Duncan had been a stickler about Grey Warden secrets and, since Joss was now the de facto Commander of the Grey, she thought she ought to adhere to at least some of the tenets of the Grey Wardens.

Dark passageways, wrapped in cobwebs and home to all manner of skittering creatures, greeted them. So much for Josslyn's hope that the Maker had gone ahead of them and cleared the path. Sure, the Maker will protect me; just not from the things I fear, Joss thought sourly as they wound through the labyrinth.

When they emerged into daylight again, at the bottom of a rather steep hill, Joss turned to Levi, who was brushing his clothes off with a self-satisfied smirk. "Just how did you figure out a way through that?" she asked, hands on hips.

"Years of exploring?" he asked with a hopeful smile. Joss shook her head.

"You won't believe me," he finally said, his eyes sliding away from hers. Never a good sign.

Cathair, gathering several gossamer strands of spider webs from her face, tried to wipe them on her armored leg before glaring at Levi with narrowed grey eyes. "Answer the Commander's question," she instructed, all spit and polish. Well except for all the dust and cobwebs clinging to her.

"It came to me in dreams," he admitted reluctantly, still looking at his feet, which were now shuffling slightly in the snow that covered the trail; an odd thing to find in the middle of spring, which did not bode well, Joss reflected.

In dreams? Was there a Fade Walker in the keep? She shivered, blaming it on the cold that permeated the air around them. Was there anything in Ferelden that wasn't haunted by demented spirits? She kicked at the snow and set off.

"The veil is as thin as a goat's whiskers. Expect ghouls and walking dead and the usual crazy demons and such," Joss warned in as nonchalant a voice as she could muster. No reason to scare the new recruits. She tossed a grin over her shoulder just before walking right into a waking dream.

"Oh yay. Lots of death here. A war of some kind. The king's army against the Grey Wardens? That couldn't have gone well," Joss muttered as she watched the dream play out.

Things just got worse from there. Sophia Dryden, Commander of the Grey, had decided to rebel against a tyrant and fight a bloody rebellion for control of Ferelden. Was it any wonder the Grey Wardens were tossed out of the country on their collective asses? Neutrality. Watchword of the Wardens. Bloody idiot had summoned demons to help with the fight. Whatever else her right hand man Avernus had been, he'd been a very powerful blood mage.

"Why do I have the urge to apologize for all blood mages?" Jowan asked, standing beside her as yet another scene of carnage played out around them in the form of a waking dream.

"Same reason I have the urge to apologize for the arrogance of all Warden Commanders?" Joss hazarded, stepping around a pile of dusty, broken old bones.

"Yeah, that's probably it," Jowan answered, sounding less than convinced. "But Joss, I never, ever, ever summoned demons to help me fight," he continued and she patted his hand.

"I know. And I also know that if you use your blood magic without my permission you will be picking up pieces of yourself all over Thedas," Joss said with a grim smile.

"Good to know," Jowan responded, laughing nervously. Poor man; he wasn't quite sure she was teasing. Neither was she, come to think of it. She tried to brighten her smile. He looked even less reassured. She shrugged and moved on. Obviously their relationship still needed some work.

They stopped to rest before climbing to the third floor. Joss sank down and leaned against the hard stone wall. Fighting undead and demons was hard work. Randal came to sit beside her, handing her a dusty, moldering old journal. He was every bit as chatty as his father, with the same drooping mustache and trim beard, though not flecked with bits of grey. She liked him, he was solid and dependable and required very little work.

Opening the fragile leather journal, she began to read the cramped, curlicue writing only to discover that it appeared to be the lot of Grey Warden Commanders to go crazy. Lucky her. Maybe she could give Alistair the title? He was, after all, the senior Warden of Ferelden.

Gaspar Asturian, Commander of the Grey of Ferelden and the man responsible for having Warden's Keep built, had gone stark raving bonkers before being forcibly taken to Orzammar for his Calling. The last few pages of his journal were filled with the rantings of a mad man. Maybe Sister Oooh Shiny could figure it out. They seemed to speak the same language. The last page was almost humorous, it was so odd.

…_Ah, but the raspberries! That's where I had them! They laughed at me and made jokes but I proved to them that I…_

That was the last entry and whatever Gaspar Asturian had proved to "them" would never be known. The rest of the brittle pages were filled with sketches of jars of what could only be raspberry jam. It was not reassuring. At. All.

"Levi, I need you to make your way back out through the tunnels and fetch Wynne and Morrigan. If I'm correct, we'll have to mend the Veil and I'll need all the mages I can get."

"Do you suppose it's the fate of all Warden Commanders to go crazy?" Joss asked conversationally while they waited for Levi's return.

"Duncan wasn't crazy!" Alistair began hotly.

Well, that was a matter of opinion. He'd recruited Josslyn, hadn't he? He'd allowed all of his Wardens to fight in the front lines, except for the two newest recruits. He hadn't told them anything about the Wardens before going off on his suicide mission. Perhaps he wasn't crazy, just mildly nuts? Sophia's choice to fight the entire Ferelden army had definitely been crazy. Asturian's obsession with raspberry jam seemed equally crazy, if not more so. She saw a trend even if Alistair refused to. It didn't bode well for her.

Naturally Wynne had an opinion about mending the gaping hole in the Veil. She stared at the other mages and then turned to Joss. In a condescending and crisp voice, she asked Joss if it was really wise to subject so many mages to the temptation of demons.

Joss, eyeing Morrigan, Wynne and Jowan in turn, eyebrow quirked, finally sighed. "You are of no concern, you're already housing one. Morrigan is too much of a snob to let a pesky old demon enter her and Jowan has already faced his demon when he consented to becoming a blood mage. Although," she added speculatively, turning to face Jowan. "It does beg the question of what exactly you promised to your demon in exchange for that knowledge."

Jowan turned a dull and unattractive shade of puce, lowering his eyes to stare at the floor, which was not really all that interesting. "I promised my first born," he mumbled.

Joss threw her head back and laughed. As a mage, the chances of him even fathering a child were pretty slim. There were at least three birth control methods known to all mages and practiced by any sane mage. As a man that many in the tower had found unappealing, his chances were even slimmer. And, as a Warden, his chances of having a child were negligible, if what Alistair had said was true.

Poor Jowan. He really was a decent fellow whose first impression left many with the wrong impression of him. He wasn't unattractive, wasn't really stupid either. He was shy, she'd discovered, and insecure. It's what had led him to blood magic in the first place. She supposed laughing at his answer wasn't exactly instilling confidence in him. With a great deal of effort she reined in her laughter like one would rein in a wild horse. Not easily.

"Sure, laugh it up," he muttered and she went to stand beside him, placing an arm around his shoulders.

"Sorry, Jowan. That was actually a brilliant promise. Poor demon will be waiting a long time for that to be fulfilled," Joss consoled and then snickered again. She did love when a demon fell for the ridiculous.

"And you?" Wynne asked coolly, bringing Joss back to the moment with a resounding thud.

"And me what? You think after hunting demons for eight years I'm suddenly going to fall prey to them? Neither a demon nor a spirit be, Wynne. Isn't that what they teach us?" Joss shot back, voice laced with sarcasm. Wynne's eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared but she held her tongue. Again. It was unsettling how little Wynne was arguing with her. Joss was going to have to talk to the old crone sooner or later and find out why. Now was a bad time. There were demons to kill and Veils to mend.

The first room on the third floor housed a very ugly and ruined Sophia Dryden. Or rather, a demon housed in Sophia Dryden's rotting body. No wonder the demon was anxious to make a deal to get out of the keep and into a fresh body. With an apology to Levi, Joss led the attack on Sophia and within a few moments both Sophia and the demon were definitely dead.

"Let's finish clearing out this mess and then work on unraveling the damned summoning circles. Hopefully this Avernus fellow died horribly and painfully," Joss muttered, examining the swirling patterns on the floor that marked the summoning wards used to bring forth the demons.

They encountered, to Josslyn's great surprise, an altar and shrine that seemed dedicated to raspberry jam. Several jars, with nary a mote of dust on them, stood in a neat little row on the altar, candles in tall silver holders on either side of them. Above the altar was a painting of a field of raspberry bushes with a beautiful elven woman reaching out to touch the fruit. Joss didn't even have a smart comment about the scene before her but she realized that there were, indeed, people crazier than Sister Several Arrows Short of a Quiver.

"Anyone know of a god or goddess that requires raspberry sacrifices in his or her name?" Joss asked in a rattled whisper.

"Who do you suppose keeps the jars dusted?"

"Do you think the jam is still edible after several hundred years?"

"Why raspberry jam? Why not grape jelly?"

Good questions all but no answers were forthcoming. They were each too surprised to do more than gape, the tears in the Veil momentarily forgotten.

Alistair finally crept forward and picked up one of the jars. "It's," he began and gulped loudly. "It's warm."

"Ewww, put it down," Joss said, wrinkling her nose and stepping back.

The jar shattered into hundreds of tiny pieces, flinging red jam through the air, when it hit the stone floor. Blobs of jam landed on the floor, the wall, the hem of Josslyn's robe. They all fell silent, standing motionless, waiting with held breath, to see what would happen now that the sacrificial jam had been desecrated.

When nothing happened they collectively released their held breath and slowly made their way out across a parapet to a tower but each of them, Joss noticed with a grin, kept looking over their shoulder, waiting for raspberry retribution. She couldn't even imagine what such retribution might entail. Nor did she wish to know.

Of course, she hadn't expected to have help in closing the tear from Warden Avernus, who, by Josslyn's calculations, had to be at least two-hundred and twenty five years old and looking every bit his age. He was crabby and acerbic and, though thankful that the group had killed Sophia Dryden's demon, put out that his research had been interrupted .

He also proved the old wives' tale that a person's ears continued to grow their entire life. His ears were huge. She'd seen smaller handles on the big water jugs used in the tower; the ones that required two strapping men to carry in from the well. It was hard to listen to him, his voice was so raspy. Harder still to look at him. She found her eyes kept wandering to his ears. Sparing a glance at her companions, she found they were having a similar problem.

They had a long talk with the man, made even longer by the pauses he had to take to catch his breath and answer their questions. Yes, he had the formula for the Joining, made better by his own inhumane experiments on his fellow Wardens. Yes, he would fetch it and they could initiate the new Wardens. Yes, he would tell them everything he knew about being a Grey Warden. And he should know a great deal about it, Joss thought dryly, considering how long he'd been one.

"We'll seal the Veil first," he ordered and she raised a brow at his arrogant assumption that he was somehow in charge.

It made sense to mend the Veil first. The after-effects of the Drink of Death could be very intense and some might not wake up from it. That thought made Josslyn's stomach plunge right over a cliff and hit the ground. She glanced surreptitiously at the Warden recruits. Would they all survive? She didn't want to even think they wouldn't. But there was now a rather large hand squeezing her heart.

Closing the Veil turned out to involve a lot more fighting than it should have. The fool blood mage had summoned dozens of demons and naturally dozens more had come through without an invitation. Only an arrogant ass would assume he could tear the Veil open and not have a houseful of uninvited guests.

Levi Dryden cowered in a corner while the group killed demons and Avernus chanted in his raspy old voice. He was surprised, but not altogether displeased, when Joss joined in, the words tripping with easy familiarity from her tongue. Arcanum, ancient and lyrical, as the words flowed into the air around them, bolstering the power of the his spells.

When it was done and the last of the demons had died, when the intense, vibrating energy of the wards had winked out, Avernus sagged against the wall, spent. Joss sent a rejuvenating spell into him and she felt Wynne do the same. The old geezer would probably die very soon with the energy of the Veil no longer pulsing through the air, Joss was sure of it. As it turned out, he died much sooner than she expected. And it had nothing to do with the Veil.

They made their way out of the large hall towards the raspberry shrine and the bridge beyond it. Avernus scornfully waved away Josslyn's proffered hand. "Fine, but be careful walking through here, there's raspberry jam on the…" but Joss never finished the warning. Avernus slipped on a blob of jam and went sliding across the floor before landing with a bone crushing thud. His head made a sick wet sound as it struck the stone. Wynne and Joss knelt beside him and Joss, frustrated and angry, shook the old man.

"He's dead, Joss," Wynne proclaimed quietly, a hint of accusation in her voice.

"Come on, Wynne, he's just unconscious. Do something!" Joss growled at the old woman.

"I'm a healer, Joss, not a miracle worker," Wynne replied.

Joss sat back on her heels and began to laugh at the absurdity that was her life.


	12. Chapter 12

**Josslyn and Her Amazing Multicolored Dreamscape**

Joss stared down at the courtyard of Warden's Keep where it appeared half the population of Ferelden was scurrying around the large bonfire that was now blazing. From her vantage point, the people reminded her of a trail of ants that she and Joseph had discovered in the tower one rainy day. The trail wound through the curved halls and up the stairs, a steady stream of tiny black dots that appeared to originate from the stone itself and end in Godwin's sock drawer. Apparently Godwin was a secret hoarder of all things sweet, much to the delight of the ants.

So too did the Dryden clan appear as they snaked their way out of the tunnels and up the steep hill to the courtyard. So many children and teens, several sets of twins, young and old alike, crowded around the fire as they set their bundles down to greet each other. It was a scene often repeated as the steady stream of Drydens arrived. Where in the Maker had they all been to come out in such large numbers? Had some mental note been sent through the ether to tell them the keep was safe now?

A stinging, brief moment of pain, unexpected and unwelcomed, snaked through Joss as well, looking down at the family. She missed Joseph. Still. After seven years the ache was no less sharp. Well now was a horrible time to get all maudlin, Joss scolded herself. Not that there was actually a good time to get all maudlin. But the middle of a Blight was probably right up there with the worst possible times to get maudlin.

With the Veil mended and the dead, semi-dead and walking dead truly dead, the snow that had covered Soldier's Peak was beginning to melt. Quickly. The children, copious amounts of them, were dismayed to see the end of it, their snowmen and snowballs melting like ice thrown in a frying pan.

"_Sit Nive Cadunt_," Joss whispered, her fingers weaving a spell. "_Aere Fridigo_."**

She watched with a small smile when the younger children began to clap in delight as snowflakes began to fall. The adults shivered and moved closer to the bonfire but the children began to dance and yell in excitement as the snow began to cover the ground.

"You're a softie," Sister Leliana of Looney Lane cooed as she came to watch the children.

"Nonsense, I'm keeping them entertained so they stay outdoors rather than underfoot," Joss denied, mildly irritated at having been found out by the chantry's resident nutcase.

"Believe what you will, Josslyn, but I see through you now," the chantry sister said, wagging her finger at Joss playfully. Joss wondered briefly how loudly Leliana the Toad would croak but before she could find out Alistair came into the room wearing the air of guilt and gloom only the chantry-raised could wear.

"What's wrong, Alistair?" Sister Butterflies and Rainbows asked.

"I killed a man with a jar of jam, what do you think is wrong?" he replied grimly, coming to stand beside Joss. He looked out at the children playing and sighed. "I bet they don't want a murdering ex-templar helping them build snowmen," he added sadly. Poor dear looked as miserable as a jilted bride.

"Nonsense. They wouldn't be here if that old ghoul was still alive, he'd have scared the freckles off their faces. But," Joss continued with a hint of a smile, "if you feel compelled to honor the man, build an Avernus snowman."

Alistair raised horrified eyebrows. "You are a sick woman, Joss."

"So you've mentioned before. But I think there's now enough snow on the ground for even his ears if you decide to build him."

With a guilty grin, Alistair quickly made his way to the door and, without a backward glance, disappeared. Less than a minute later he joined the group of children playing in the freshly fallen snow.

"And he, ladies and gentlemen, is all that stands between the Archdemon and all of Ferelden," she chuckled, watching him cavort somewhat clumsily in his armor. He was like a mabari puppy, all feet and uncoordinated limbs. As if reading her thoughts Styx growled low in his throat before returning to his nap.

Turning, she saw that Leliana had departed and Joss now stood in an empty room. Which didn't stay empty for long. It must be the "_Hello, enter and disturb me, I'm not doing anything important_," sign on the door.

"Ah there you are, my lovely Warden. Oh, tsk, tsk. Such a frown. At your age those lines can become permanent," Zev chided, his catlike grace bringing him to stand beside her.

"Why thank you, Zevran. Those rumors of you being a real lady's man were not understated," she replied dryly, while self-consciously reaching up to smooth out the wrinkles.

Zev threw his head back with a laugh. "You, my dear, I like. Sit down and tell me what makes you so unhappy. I have been told I am a very good listener."

"By those same people who say you are a real lady's man?" she snickered, moving to the fire and warming her hands.

"Hmmm, where do I start? Perhaps with Sister Zippity Do Da? How long before she goes howling-at-the-moon mad? She prays with a maniacal glee while she kills people and afterwards she smiles as if the Maker had just bestowed the most blessed orgasm on her. And have you heard her compare the shapes and colors of her bruises to butterflies? She is a few pearls shy of a necklace, that one."

"Perhaps she is happy to be away from her celibate brothers and sisters?" Zev suggested helpfully. Well, celibacy had been known to drive men mad. Perhaps there was a bit of truth in his remark. Joss shook her head and continued.

"Then there is the Swamp Witch with her bodaciously bewitching bosom that never, ever, ever jiggles. At. All. How is that possible? What foul magic does she use for such a feat?

"More importantly, why would her mother send her along on this mad journey? Flemeth may have appeared to us as a batty old woman. She was not. The power emanating from her was extraordinary. Yet how canny can she be? She saved the two most junior Wardens in Ferelden, the ones who knew the least about a Blight and how to stop it. Was that on purpose?

"And what does Morrigan know about why her mother sent her? It's not like I can ask her, she squawks and flies off whenever I try. She is in permanent bitch mode and I can't imagine why. Or rather, I can guess but I'd rather not," Joss trailed off and scrubbed at her face.

"You sure you want me to continue? I've barely started," she added, watching Zev's golden eyes widen slightly before they crinkled at the corners, his smile teasing.

"Yet these things, they do not really bother you. These are not the reason for the sadness in your eyes, although you would wish me to think so."

The Antivan Crow had sharp eyes, Joss gave him that. She shrugged. "The Queen Mage who travels with us is not my favorite mage. In fact, at the risk of sounding like the heroine of a particularly badly written adventure tale, she killed my brother. Or, more accurately, she is the reason Greagoir had to kill him. I need her healing skills but she is possessed of a spirit, who is currently benevolent but that can change rapidly. When that happens, if not caught quickly enough, Grandma Abomination can wreak havoc on an unsuspecting population."

Joss scrubbed at her face again and then smiled. "And I'm done talking. I sound like a whining child. Thank you for listening."

Zev frowned at her, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "I will make the sacrifice of discovering the truth behind Morrigan's magical mounds, I assure you. As to Wynne's spirit, we shall watch for such a thing and I will not hesitate to kill her if necessary, though it will be a shame that a woman still so fit and firm has to die."

Rubbing at the tension at the base of her neck, Joss shook her head. "Do you really think a woman nearing sixty is so fit and firm on her own? Amazing what a spirit can do for the female form."

"That is disturbingly erotic," Zev replied with a wolfish grin.

Joss shuddered. And then shuddered again. "Or just, you know, plain old disturbing."

With a chuckle, Zev left, vowing to discover Morrigan's secret. She only hoped he would. She could use some good news.

Cathair, smiling triumphantly, was the next visitor to enter what Joss had hoped would be a private room. The recruit held a stack of journals in her arms and she put them on the rickety desk that had once belonged to Sophia Dryden. "These might help. Found them in that old bastard's room. Looks like a bunch of drivel but I reckon a mage might figure it out."

"Yes, all mages speak the same language. Much like all soldiers fight the same way," Joss replied dryly, staring at the half dozen journals.

"Oh. Point taken, Commander."

"Please don't call me that. I'm not a commander. I'm a mage. We aren't allowed to rule over anything or anyone." Not that she believed that propaganda but she also didn't believe she was the best suited for a leadership role.

Cathair's grey eyes narrowed and she replied firmly, "You are a Grey Warden now. I reckon that entitles you to rule over other Grey Wardens of lesser rank."

Three hours and two bowls of succulent beef stew later, Joss closed the last journal, not sure if she was relieved or disappointed that Avernus had created a potent new Joining ritual with less chance of death that apparently gave the Warden a longer lifespan. Not, she decided remembering the man's ears, that she wanted to live to be two hundred years old. Still, there was now no excuse for not performing the ritual on Jowan, Cathair and Randal. She was relieved that the Joining promised new power and a better chance of survival but with her luck she'd kill all three with the Drink of Death.

Remembering her own Joining, where two out of three recruits had died, did nothing to alleviate her growing nervousness. She longed to be able to sit and talk with Teagan about it. He was a very rational and calm man. He would know just what to say to put her at ease. Or so she told herself. It was her excuse to go in and muck around in the Fade.

The halls of the keep were drafty as she made her way to Zevran's room. She tapped on the door before entering, half expecting to see him with a pair of women cozying up to him but he was honing his blade, his hair unbound and looking thoughtfully at the fire while his hands worked effortlessly.

"There is something else you wish of me? Perhaps to warm your bed?"

"Tempting, but I'm going to pass. I do need your help though. If you'll come back to my room, I'll explain."

Zevran was up and at her side in seconds. "Whatever you have need of, my dear, I am your man, without reservation. Although I think I would prefer if you at least consider my proposals before rejecting them," he continued as they made their way back to Josslyn's room.

"Well, if it is any consolation, you can watch me go to bed," she replied with a grin. She liked Zevran. Of all the companions now traveling with her, he was rapidly becoming her favorite and most trusted friend. That should worry her, considering he was a whoreson, by his own admission, as well as an Antivan assassin. But underneath the smooth and rakish façade was a surprisingly good man with common sense to spare. Some day she would wrest his story from him, she was sure there was one there to wrest.

"I am going to enter the Fade and I need you to watch me. If I become possessed you'll need to kill me. Quickly. Not that I expect that to happen," she added quickly at his sharp intake of breath. "Not to worry. I'll let you know if I need killing. Probably by trying to kill or seduce you. Either will be a sign that I've become home to a demon and killing me will be a mercy."

"You say Leliana is crazy but really, my lovely Warden, you are not too very far from it yourself," Zev finally said and she wasn't going to dispute that. She had never claimed to be sane, actually. Although, Joss decided, she was less crazy than Leliana of the Holy Visions.

"You do not need lyrium?" he asked in surprise as she closed her eyes.

"Not really. I use it if I have a specific destination in mind but not when I'm going in to create my own Fade."

Zev sat down in a chair that he'd pulled close to the bed and carefully unsheathed the newly honed dagger. "Your own Fade? No. No, do not tell me, it is best I not know these things."

Sighing, she closed her eyes and concentrated on entering the Fade. She had learned not to find her target by entering their dream. She had done that with Joseph only to discover he was having a particularly erotic dream about Callie, a shy young mage who evidently wasn't so shy in dreams. Both Joss and Joseph had blushed for days over that. From then on, she had created her own Fade dream and called out to whoever she was looking for, guiding them to her little spot of the dreamscape.

Those mages who had the ability to shape dreams and manipulate dreamers were called Fade Walkers. The Chasind, she had learned, called them Dream Walkers. In the Imperium they were known as Somniari and were highly sought after mages. Irving had offered to send her to the Tevinter Imperium to study the Somniari but she wasn't about to go to the Blood Mage Capital of Thedas to learn about the dark side of walking the Fade.

Slipping into the raw Fade, she began to shape the terrain. A slight hill, covered in summer grass. Greener, she thought, eying the pale green until it became a deep, bright green. A tree, but what kind? Oak? Why not, they were easy enough. She continued on, adding a burbling brook with several cascades, a bright blue sky and a balmy wind. She added a few birds and butterflies but, reminded of Leliana, she did away with both. The last thing she wanted was to be reminded of her companions. She spread a blanket on the ground, set the sun a bit higher in the sky and then began to chant softly.

She heard him before she spied him. He was whistling as he came over the rise of the hill, a bow slung jauntily over his shoulder. He was wearing hunting greens and leading a big brute of a horse that Joss hastily did away with. Teagan blinked at that, and then blinked again as a lazy smile curved his mouth upward.

"Josslyn! I didn't expect to find you here," he murmured, coming to pull her to her feet. "You look lovely."

Of course she did. It was a dream. No cuts, smudges or blood marred her this time; no cheese handprint on her left (or right) breast and she was wearing a soft wool gown. She had dreamt her hair into immaculate ringlets and shaped herself as well as the Fade. And felt dirty and dishonest for doing so. Sighing regretfully, she let her hair reform into its customary haphazard chignon but she absolutely refused to add cuts, smudges or blood smears to her face. Or cheese to her breast.

"You look like you've been hunting," she replied and, if she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine his arms really were around her. The problem with Fade Walking was that it wasn't reality but it was a damned close approximation. She pulled Teagan down onto the blanket and bade him put his head in her lap. He did so gladly, grinning up at her with playful blue eyes.

"Why are we here? Shouldn't you be in Denerim by now?" he asked suddenly as he settled his head in her lap.

"Yes, well, I was sidetracked, which is why we're here."

"Where is 'here' exactly?"

She tried to explain, in thirty words or less, where they were. She'd found that non-mages tended to become very nervous when she explained that she could enter dreams and visit dreamers. Silly buggers. Teagan did tense up for a minute but after studying her for another minute, his tension melted away and he seemed to accept her words. _No wonder I adore him already_, _he's sexy and extremely nonjudgmental_.

"Ah. Allow me to thank you first. Niall is a marvel. He has been helping heal the injured villagers as well as spending time talking to Connor, though he has said some very odd things about you," Teagan commented, his smile still as warm and engaging as she remembered.

Joss felt the clank as her stomach sank. Perhaps sending Niall to Redcliffe had been an unwise idea. Their past had been colorful, flaming red dye aside. "Nothing too odd, I hope."

"Did you really write a paper highlighting the reasons why Templars and Mages should cohabitate?"

Joss wondered how much she could bend the truth in the Fade, where truth was fluid and transient. She also wondered how she could repay Niall. "It seems so unreasonable a thing when you put it that way. We already live together anyway, it just seems the logical next step, rather than all that repressed sexual tension and those closet trysts. If the templars were less afraid of mages and their abilities, mages would be less afraid of having their heads removed. Literally. It seems the perfect solution to me."

Teagan let out a huff of laughter and his eyes narrowed. "You are certainly not like anyone I've ever been with before," he said in way of a reply. Was that a good thing? A bad thing? A who cares thing? Joss wasn't sure she wanted to know.

"I get that a lot," she finally said when it was apparent he was waiting for her reply. And then groaned. Well _that_ hadn't made her sound like a slut. At. All. Obviously she was still unfit for human consumption. "I mean, thank you?"

Teagan chuckled and reached up to graze her cheek with the pad of his thumb. It would be so easy to let the dream unfold in a purely sexual way but she was oddly reluctant to let it. Gah, what was wrong with her? Fade sex was the next best thing to real sex. Obviously the Joining had done something sinister to her conscience.

"So, why did you bring me here? And will I remember this when I wake up?"

"I miss you," Joss heard herself confess and then wondered if she could reset the dream and start again. She sounded like a simpering idiot. A simpering slutty idiot. How could he _not_ be enamored of her obvious charms?

"No more than I miss you, milady," Teagan responded seriously and sat up, moving to take her in his arms. His lips felt almost real as they coaxed her lips apart and his tongue made itself at home in her mouth. She moaned. And then broke away, wondering if she had moaned in reality. Zev would no doubt let her know if she had. Wonderful.

"I…if we proceed down this road you will wake to a very sticky situation," she finally said, and discovered she could feel the heat of a blush even in the Fade. "And as far as remembering, you probably won't be sure if you dreamt this or not. Well, you did dream it so I guess you can say you'll remember."

"Tell me what's troubling you, Josslyn," he said finally and she found herself babbling on and on about the Joining, responsibility, her companions and everything else. One more reason for Teagan to run, not walk, to the nearest exit, Joss thought when she was finally able to regain control of her wayward mouth.

"My dear, I am sorry I can't be there to help you. You must go through with the Joining, regardless of the outcome. Both Cathair and Randal volunteered even knowing there were risks involved and you conscripted Jowan. If you don't make him take the Joining, he'll face a trial with Isolde having right of high justice."

So reasonable and calm. She wasn't sure if she should slap him or hug him. He just made everything seem too rational when it didn't feel rational. Andraste's twisted knickers! Was this what it felt like to fall in love? To grow up and actually want to do the right thing? The _noble_ thing. She glared at Teagan.

"This is all your fault," she growled and could feel tears burning like hot embers on her cheeks. Damn it. But he was gently wiping the tears away and she let him, weakling that she was.

"I'm sure I'm to blame, I'm just not sure what exactly I'm to blame for?" Teagan soothed. Damn it again. Couldn't the man be a pig? Did he have to be so damned noble?

"I have to get back, it will be morning soon and you do not want to be yanked forcibly from the Fade," she finally muttered, remembering his poor brown boots and the indignity they'd suffered when she had been yanked too quickly from the Fade.

"I've sent a letter to my seneschal. He's expecting your arrival at my estate. It isn't very big but it will be more comfortable than the Gnawed Noble Tavern," Teagan began and Joss interrupted him with a sigh.

"You are too nice. You know that, right?" she asked.

"Noblesse Oblige," he replied with a grin. "I can afford to be nice."

"A shame more nobles don't feel that way," Joss muttered dolefully, thinking of those who had come to the tower. She slowly stood up. No need to explain to Teagan why she was not overly fond of the nobility.

They started walking down the hill, arm in arm. Joss warned him that at the bottom of the hill he would re-enter his own dream and she would wake up. He stopped midway down the hill.

"I love what you've done with the place," he said with a sweep of his arm to include the burbling creek, the oak tree, the dancing wildflowers and swaying grass; their newly designed dreamscape. "If we don't meet here again soon, know that I am thinking of you, to the detriment of my work," he said seriously and then captured her lips with his before fading away.

Joss woke with a start. Zev, sitting quietly beside the bed, gave her a knowing grin.

"You made the most delicious noises, my saucy minx. You must tell Zevran all about your dream."

* * *

**A/N**: _When I created Travis in __**The Lion's Den**__ and made him a Chasind Dream Walker I knew that Joss would have that ability too. Imagine my delight when DA2's mythos had such things as well, affirming that Somniari, or Dream Walkers exist.  
For those who asked: Yes, more information on Joseph will be forthcoming. Hopefully in the next chapter or two.  
**Josslyn's spell was: Let the snow fall. Cold air. _


	13. Chapter 13

**Super Secret Stuff**

Morning came with a jolt. Apparently someone had tripped over her boots to land with a loud "oomph" on top of her. Joss opened a bleary eye and threatened, "Get your hand off my breast, Alistair, or you will be the only croaking templar in Thedas."

Alistair, face the color of an Antivan sunset, scrambled off her and landed on the floor with a resounding thump. Joss propped herself up on her elbow, chuckling. "Somehow I just _knew_ you were a breast man."

Inarticulate noises emanated from him but nothing that Joss actually understood. She watched as he scuttled out of the room, muttering incoherently. "But thank you for waking me up in such a novel way!" she called after him.

Still snickering, Joss rose and began to prepare for the upcoming day. Her snickers died away, killed by the thought of feeding the Drink of Death to the three recruits. _So help me if one of them dies, I'll kill them._

Cathair, just slightly shorter than Alistair, was strong and feisty. She was not particularly feminine in appearance but she was as graceful as a dancer in a battle. Joss enjoyed her company. She seemed to be the only woman in the group who had both feet planted on the ground. She relied on Cathair to teach Alistair all there was to know about leadership and battle tactics, which seemed odd, given they were about the same age and had been soldiers for nearly the same length of time. Alistair, Joss understood, had no confidence in his abilities. Cathair had confidence to spare but was never cocky.

Randal had the plucky brusqueness of his father, Murdock. He wasn't a leader yet, but what he lacked in leadership, he more than made up for with his uncanny ability to come through any fight unscathed while taking down a fair number of enemies. A preternatural talent for survival could not be a bad thing when staring into a cup of poisoned blood, Joss was sure. At least, she hoped that was true.

Her biggest fear was that Jowan would bolt and she'd have to kill him when it came his time to toast the Grey Wardens. He was stronger than he believed he was but until _he_ believed it he was always going to be weaker than he could be. Joss had seen plenty of "Jowans" in the tower; mages almost crippled by anxiety and self doubt. Society, including the rarified society of the tower, did nothing to encourage a mage's self-esteem. Quite the opposite, in fact. Still, the alternative, life as an apostate, was worse. She still wasn't sure how he had survived outside the tower and he ought to be proud of the fact that he had survived. Although, given what happened in Redcliffe, she could certainly appreciate why he wouldn't be proud.

Joss had tried to instill confidence in Jowan since he'd joined them on their escapades but she was not very adept at that sort of thing. She imagined telling him that he was a brainless boob had probably not helped him all that much. But really he had nobody to blame for that but himself. Why had he felt compelled to tell the Drydens, all thirty-seven of them, that he was a wanted maleficar? The children had run from the room, some in tears, others screaming. The adults hadn't been too far behind. He had wanted to be honest about himself, he claimed. He was tired of hiding. Very brave and very noble. Also very dumb.

"Yes, but they all knew about Avernus, the very old and very demented maleficar of Warden's Keep. Why would it put them at ease to have you around in his place? To them a maleficar is a maleficar is a maleficar. No need to scare them with the knowledge. In fact, unless you emblazon a bright red 'M' on your forehead, nobody will ever know you are a maleficar unless you _tell_ them."

"Thanks. A simple 'gosh, not what I would have done but good on you' wouldn't have done?" he had asked, slinking out of the room. Her people skills were still not quite up to par, apparently.

If Jowan didn't run, and if he survived, she hoped it gave him the confidence that he had always lacked. Joss genuinely cared about Jowan, saw the potential in him and also saw the pain that was hidden beneath his half-smile and his sometimes biting sarcasm. It dismayed her that she actually cared about him, that she was beginning to understand and empathize with him. Next she'd want to help kittens out of trees and kiss babies on their rosy cheeks.

Sighing, she made her way downstairs. Sleep had been a temperamental bastard and her eyes felt as though someone had thrown sand in them. Not that she had actually ever seen sand. Or the ocean for that matter. But she'd read enough to understand how gritty sand could be.

Joseph had once described the ocean as the largest, coldest bathtub he'd ever seen, but the water, he claimed, was the color of aquamarines and the salt in it helped to keep a person afloat. At the time, she'd never seen an aquamarine either but, thanks to the darkspawn, she was now in possession of half a dozen of the blue gems.

Actually, now that she thought about it, just why did darkspawn carry gems and semi-precious stones on them? Were they used as currency at the Darkspawn General Store? Did the creatures eat them? Did the darkspawn even eat? How did they procreate? They all seemed to resemble males although she had yet to see any dangly bits. Not that she had actually gone looking for those bits, exactly, but the researcher in her was curious. She wondered if Alistair knew the answers to any of her questions. She wondered if there was a book somewhere that would explain everything; The Guide to Knowing Your Darkspawn Neighbors.

Pushing aside her breakfast, she went in search of Jowan, who was sitting on a tall stool in the old mage's laboratory. He watched as the small dish in front of him spun around and around. When it slowed down, he set it spinning again.

"Are you taking bets on how many rotations you get out of that dish before it stops?" she asked quietly, coming to stand beside him.

"Ah, Sweeney's old trick. I got suckered by that moldy old geezer more than once."

Senior Enchanter Sweeney would find the most gullible of the mage apprentices and bet them a week's worth of slave labor that he could accurately guess the number of rotations in a glass beaker that the apprentice would spin. What he failed to mention was that his specialty was the spirit tree and he excelled in telekinetic spells. He could correctly guess the number of rotations because he made sure that was exactly how many rotations the beaker made.

"I doubt old Sweeney ever had to darn his own socks or make his own bed. Too many apprentices fell for that over and over. The Enchanters should have started teaching the spirit spells earlier on, maybe the apprentices would have figured it out sooner."

Joss reached out and stilled Jowan's nervous fingers. "Listen, Jowan, about this Joining thing," she began only to be interrupted by Breast Man, formerly known as the Grey Warden Alistair.

"No! Joss, you aren't allowed to tell a recruit anything about it," Alistair protested, looking appalled as he entered the room.

"Right, I get it. It's all super secret stuff," Joss responded in a hushed voice, rolling her eyes. "And the minute you want to take up the leadership role, I'll be happy to be quiet. Until then, guess I'll do what I think is necessary. I mean, it's not like he can escape or anything. He'll either die or become one of us. Either way the secrets are safe."

Jowan turned the color of mashed potatoes. "What?" he squeaked, sending the glass dish into a wild spin. In fact, it spun off the table and shattered on the floor. _Hopefully that's not an omen of any kind._

"The Ritual will either make you able to sense darkspawn and you'll become immune to the darkspawn sickness or it will kill you. If you decide to make a run for it rather than drink the Joining Juice, I'll be forced to kill you. It's in the official Grey Warden rulebook. Oh wait…" Joss trailed off, glancing at Alistair. "We don't actually have the rulebook. But believe me, Wardens don't approve of your trying to escape once they tap you on the shoulder."

By now Jowan was trying desperately to breathe and Joss reached out to pat him on the back. "It'll be fine, Jowan. You're a blood mage. You practice blood magic. This is a blood magic ritual. You're a shoo-in."

Alistair was the first to start laughing. Joss couldn't help but join in because he had a very boyish, infectious laugh. Jowan, his laughter hesitant at first, added to the festivities and before long the three of them were doubled up, slapping each other on the back and going off into fresh paroxysms of laughter every time they looked at each other. Joss could barely breathe and Jowan's eyes were streaming. She could only hope the tears were from his laughter. And, as abruptly as it started, the laughter died away. Nothing like a bit of gallows humor, she thought with a final chuckle.

"You should eat something before we begin the Joining, Jowan. You're going to wake up extremely hungry as it is. Having something on your stomach will keep it from devouring itself until proper food can be provided. Grab Cathair and Randal on your way."

After Jowan left, Joss got up and closed the door to the lab, turning to Alistair with a frown. "I have a whole lot of questions and if you can answer even one of them, I'll do a Remigold just for you," she said quietly.

He raised his brows so high they nearly disappeared into his hair line. He was not used to her being serious apparently. Well, she couldn't fault him for that. She wasn't used to it either.

"So, we have one more vial of Archdemon blood in the vault here. If there isn't any in the Denerim compound we are going to have to go to Orlais and get some. Either that or have very few Grey Wardens fighting this Blight. I say the more the merrier."

Alistair stared at her unhappily. "Crossing the border will only confirm Loghain's suspicions that the Grey Wardens are secretly just Orlesian spies."

Joss frowned. "Doesn't it strike you as odd that he is even more paranoid than normal? I mean, I've read enough about him to know he hates, hates, _hates_ Orlais but to subscribe to the notion that all Wardens are Orlesian spies seems a stretch even for him. Not to mention his allowing the battle plan to proceed at Ostagar, knowing it was doomed from the start. Even I could tell that and I know as much about military strategy as you know about women."

"Hey!" Alistair cried, with a petulant pout. Joss raised one brow and smiled slowly at the color sweeping into his cheeks. Embarrassment outweighed petulance it seemed.

"Mean, mean mage," he muttered.

"Yes, you and Jowan can form a club with a secret handshake and a rallying cry and drinking songs," she suggested.

"Now, back to the subject we were discussing. Archdemon blood and the lack thereof. I suppose I could just mosey over to the Archdemon's hideout and ask to borrow a cup of his blood?"

Alistair snickered. "Pardon me, corrupted Old God, how about sharing a pint? Of your blood."

They were both chuckling when another thought occurred to Joss. "How did the first Grey Wardens know to create a Joining and why would they even think of it? Did one of them turn to the others and say: 'Hey, maybe if we drink some tainted blood and lyrium and pure Archdemon blood we can win this war' or what? I mean, how would you have liked to be the first to try it? Did they just keep mixing ingredients until someone finally survived?

"For that matter," she continued, warming to the topic, "why all the secrecy? I don't believe all that donkey dung about people not wanting to join if they knew about all the wonderful side effects. There are plenty of idiots who want to be heroes out there. I suspect it has more to do with the whole blood magic part of the Joining. People don't trust blood magic, Chantry propaganda aside.

"Of course, back in the good old days, quite a few fools would have joined for the free griffon. I know I would have been tempted to volunteer. Just think of the recruiting slogan for that: A griffon in every barn, a chicken in every pot and all you have to do is drink this yummy sludge."

"Uh, Joss? You _did_ volunteer. Even without the griffon," Alistair reminded her with a smug smile.

"Oh. Right. I knew that."

Twenty minutes later, having mixed the concoction to the new specifications that Avernus had discovered through his grisly research, Joss and Alistair waited for the three new recruits to join them.

"Before we do this, maybe we should put some straw on the floor or have them bring pillows?" she said, remembering the goose egg sized lump she'd gotten from her Joining.

"It isn't a sleepover, Joss," Alistair replied, hiding a chuckle behind a cough.

"No, but what use is a recruit who passes their Joining just to bash his brains out on the floor afterwards?"

She saw Alistair flinch. "People skills," he muttered and they both spared a moment of silence for Avernus. Alistair's face had an odd green tint to it and she wondered briefly if hers did as well.

The three recruits entered the room a few minutes later and Joss found her hands were shaking. _Think of it like a Harrowing. You've seen plenty of those. Just like that. __Odds are good they'll survive. _It did not alleviate her growing unease when she remembered Jowan had not actually taken his Harrowing because he had been deemed too weak to do so.

Under a fringe of eyelashes, she surveyed the blood mage. He was pale, although he had slightly more color in his cheeks than he'd had earlier. His shoulders were straight and his spine was stiff. He wore a look of resolve with a hint of panic. She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

"Alright, you're probably wondering why I gathered you all here. Time to join the exclusive club known as the Grey Wardens. Who volunteers to go first?"

Alistair hissed, "That's not how we do it. You give a speech, I recite the Grey Warden pledge, you recite the motto and then you call each one forward, one at a time."

"Ah, more of that super secret stuff," she hissed back at him. "I haven't the faintest idea what I'm supposed to say. It's not like I attended remedial Joining Ritual Class or anything." They sounded like dueling snakes.

Thinking back to her own Joining, she realized that Duncan _had_ spoken briefly, something about the first blight, but she'd been too busy fending off Daveth's persistent advances to actually listen to Duncan. And now that she thought about it, there had been some sort of pledge and motto. She just couldn't remember the exact wording of either.

"Maybe you should do this," she said, thrusting the mug into his hand. He'd tried to convince her that the Joining required a chalice and she'd reminded him that blood didn't really care what it was in.

"What? Me? No way can I do it. Can I?" he squeaked in panic, handing the mug back.

"Do you seriously want me to try and recite some motto I can't remember?"

"Good point. I'll do the talking, you handle the mug."

Alistair moved forward and cleared his throat. Silence. He cleared his throat again. More silence. _Is he using telepathy? Have I gone deaf?_ Joss moved to stand beside him. She nudged him gently.

"You'll do fine," she whispered in encouragment.

Even the motto seemed a bit like a blood magic spell. The whole notion that death is a sacrifice was horribly off putting. But Joss held her tongue, much to everyone's amazement, most especially hers. She didn't trust her voice not to quiver and quaver.

Cathair stepped forward first. Joss, trying to look solemn but confident, handed over the mug. The warrior raised it to her lips and Joss had a sudden vision of the woman gulping down the contents and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Don't gulp. Just a dab will do you," she instructed and then closed her eyes as the woman tipped the mug to her lips.

She opened one eye when she heard Cathair begin to choke and cough. But rather than falling down and writhing on the ground in pain before passing out, she fell on her knees and seemed to struggle for air. And then she leaned back on her heels with a shiver.

"That's got quite a kick," she noted and stood up, moving back to her designated spot.

Joss looked over at Alistair to gauge his reaction. He was staring at Cathair, mouth open and throat working overtime to produce sound. She knew just how he felt. Had they used the wrong proportions? Used out-of-date blood? Or had it actually taken an ancient old ghoul two hundred years to perfect a thirteen hundred year old formula?

Seeing Cathair drop to her knees as her body accepted the tainted blood gave Joss an idea. She sat down and folded her legs under her, tugging on Alistair's arm as she did. If the recruits sat on the floor they would save a lot of wear and tear on their joints. Alistair looked appalled but he sat down beside her, his armor creaking in protest.

"Jowan, come on down! You're the next recruit in line for the Joining Juice!" Joss called cheerfully, now positive she wouldn't lose anyone during the ritual.

Jowan sat cross-legged, tucking his robes around him primly before he squared his shoulders and nodded. She handed him the mug and he took a quick swig. She took it out of his hands and watched him for his reaction. He neither coughed nor choked. Instead, he turned a shade known by healers as apoplexy purple. He clutched his throat and his eyes watered but after a moment he blinked and the bright purple in his face receded.

"She's right. That's the worst thing I've ever tasted."

Considering he'd grown up in the tower where mages experimented with creating their own liquor, often with outlandish but handy ingredients, that was saying something. Joss wondered if she could experiment a bit with the formula, add crushed mint or a dollop of honey to the mixture without upsetting the delicate balance of the concoction. Remembering what had happened to Avernus' test subjects, she decided against tampering with success.

Randal all but swaggered up to them, sitting down without much grace but the man was wearing chainmail. Graceful sitting was not possible. She watched him settle on the floor and then gave him a grin which he returned with a gruff, "Hand it over."

Sputtering, his eyes wide and frantic, he slumped forward, head flopping into Josslyn's lap. It was too much to hope for she thought sadly, shoulders sagging. She was surprised at the sharp bloom of sorrow she felt. At least two of the recruits survived. It was more successful than her Joining. Still, her eyes began to water and she didn't trust herself to speak. The room was deathly quiet.

Forcing herself to move her frozen fingers, Joss reached down to feel for a pulse. Thready but steady. Unceremoniously pushing his head out of her lap, she stood up, brushing her skirts off. The others looked on in varying degrees of shock at how callously she handled the prone figure of one of their comrades.

"He's fine."

As if to prove her right, Randal groaned and rolled over, struggling to sit up. "Sissy," Cathair said, offering him a hand up.

A short time later, Joss made her way up to her room and locked the door behind her. It seemed it was a super secret kind of day and while she had the privacy she decided it was time to read Flemeth's grimoire. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, chin propped in her palm, she opened the book and began to read. Three hours later, eyes dry and muscles aching, she snapped the book shut.

Flemeth, it seemed, was worse than Joss had originally thought, and definitely worse than Avernus the Ancient Abomination. The hidden knowledge of how she lived on and on through the centuries highlighted just how much worse. It also made her feel very sorry for Morrigan, which was not something she ever thought she'd feel. An odd thing for Irving to have in his office. How had he come by it? Why had he kept it? Why had Flemeth sent Morrigan with them? Wasn't she worried that Morrigan would come to harm or die or something while she was cavorting around the countryside with the Wardens? It didn't make any sense to Josslyn. At. All.

There were no spells or rituals listed in the grimoire, just a long and salacious tale of seducing Chasind men and raising daughters for the purposes of possessing them when her old body wore out. Ingenious really, in a mad scientist, mwhahaha, kind of way.

Joss wondered what she was going to tell Morrigan. Before she could formulate a plan that actually made sense and wasn't completely insensitive, there was a light rapping on her door. She unlocked it to find Zevran lounging against the door frame wearing a cheeky grin.

"You missed a meal, lovely lady. Are you ill or just having a delicious time in your room? Perhaps I have interrupted something?" he asked, looking around hopefully as she ushered him in.

"Nothing important, just some super secret stuff. I could use a break though. I think I have a kink in my neck," Joss assured him, sliding the book into her pack. She grimaced as she stretched her neck.

"Come sit here," Zev said with a leer, patting the bed where he now sat.

His calloused hands were surprisingly gentle as he rested them on her neck, but the angle was wrong and he was straining his own neck and back to reach her neck.

"Maybe if I lay face down? I've heard that makes it easier," she teased, stretching out with a low sigh.

"Aw, my knotty Warden, it is very hard, is it not?" Zev replied, digging his thumbs into a hard knot of muscles. She moaned loudly as the muscles began to relax.

"That feels wonderful," she sighed. "Oh yes, Zev, right there," she moaned as he continued. He was very good at giving massages. Some day she would have to find out the story of how he came by such a useful talent.

"Indeed? I thought perhaps some oil on this spot?" he purred, continuing to dig his thumbs into her slowly loosening muscles. "I hear it heightens the experience," he continued with a chuckle.

"Oil on that spot sounds perfect," she began but a loud pounding on the wall that her bed rested against stopped her. Awfully loud termites, she thought drowsily.

"Maker's breath, just stop talking about…about hard things and oil and being naughty and…please stop!" came Alistair's strangled and somewhat muffled voice from the room next door.

Joss buried her head in her pillow as her laughter bubbled up. She fought for control, unable to say anything around her mirth.

"But my friend, surely you do mind if I rub her…" Zev began, a wicked tone flavoring his words with enough innuendo that even Alistair couldn't miss it.

"Super! Secret! Stuff!" Alistair yelped on a high note of what could only be panic.

"This from the Breast Grabbing Warden?" she called loudly.

"No! No, no, no. I didn't! That was an accident," Alistair protested in a strained voice.

"Zevran is only giving me a neck massage! Goodness, the places your mind goes, Alistair!" she called out, unable to contain her laughter any longer.

A moment later she heard Alistair's door squeak open and slam shut and the sound of his retreating footsteps.

**A/N**: _I know I mentioned more info on Joseph but this chapter turned into something completely different. Hopefully the next chapter will have more about Joseph. _


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:** _I am continually amazed at the number of people following this story and thankful beyond measure. I appreciate all of you who are reading, reviewing, lurking and favoriting.  
A big shout out to __**roxfox1962**__ for giving me my 200__th__ review of this story. Rox Rocks! She's a wonderful FF author whose work I highly recommend_.  
_Apologies to the late Hunter S. Thompson...hopefully he and I won't meet up in the afterlife._

**Beer and Loathing in Denerim**

Denerim was a confusing, smelly, crowded place; Redcliffe on a larger scale and without the undead walking around. Or at least Joss hadn't encountered any undead yet. The day, however, was young. And if she loathed Lothering, she detested Denerim. Nobody seemed able to help themselves or their fellow citizens, but all were happy to ask for help from her group as they made their way through the city. It gave Josslyn a headache.

Unfortunately, while the undead seemed to be absent, the smell of fish was not. The fishmongers were busy in the market square and it seemed to Joss and her unhappy stomach that they were also on nearly every street corner they passed. If they weren't, urchins with ragged clothes and dirty faces crouched on the corner begging, or women of questionable morals – Leliana's term – offered their wares. Josslyn preferred the term "sweet cream ladies" but she kept that to herself.

There was madness in any direction, at any hour. Or so Zevran claimed as they charted a course through the twisting maze of streets and narrow alleyways. The capital of Ferelden. She had thought that the city would be a showcase of Ferelden strength and pride but it only made her believe more firmly in the gap - well, chasm really - between the nobility and the commoners; it was a city whose culture seemed stagnant and mired in a distant past and whose nobles chose to ignore the squalor and filth.

Zev had insisted that Alistair and Josslyn wear their cloaks with their hoods pulled up. Joss felt ridiculous as they wandered through the market place. The day was warm and sunny and they were more conspicuous with their hoods up then if they'd been wandering nude through the streets. In the end, it didn't work. A man, dressed in heavy, highly polished plate, stepped in front of her to block her path. He had a hand on the hilt of a very sharp and pointy sword.

"I recognize you," he snarled. "You're the Grey Warden, the one who murdered good King Cailan and then quit the battlefield. I demand satisfaction and if you have any honor at all, you'll grant it to me, traitor."

The statement was so melodramatic and inflammatory that Joss actually smiled. She recognized the man as well. He had come to the tower two years earlier to find a _tutor_ for his young son. He had not been interested in which mage had the best grades in their academic studies; he had only been interested in female mages and elven female mages in particular.

"As I recognize you, ser. You're the nobleman who has a penchant for elven lasses. I wonder what stories Chandra would tell of her _tutoring_ experiences," Joss replied and if a voice could drip disdain, hers did. She was quite pleased with herself.

"I will see you hanged for that filthy lie!" the man raged, which seemed a bit of a contradiction since he'd raised his sword in a particularly menacing way. Or did he mean to hang her after he ran her through?

"You hang her and I'll make sure you don't live long enough to enjoy it," Alistair intervened, stepping in front of Joss. She was touched that he jumped to her defense but the notion of defending her _after_ she was dead left something to be desired.

"Oh no, there is no need for violence," Sister Chirp and Chatter cooed, coming to stand beside Joss. "Can't we all just get along?"

By that point Zev had melded into the shadows and crept up behind the hapless noble. With a quick, graceful move, he slapped at the noble's wrist and sent the man's sword flying. Another deft move and the man was on the ground, eyes closed and looking as though he was napping in the noonday sun.

They continued on as if nothing had happened but Joss no longer complained about the hood she was wearing. The incident had shown how vulnerable she was. If Loghain discovered her meandering around the market square searching for shoes, an activity that Lady La La had suggested, he would not hesitate to kill her or, worse still, subject her to his cold scrutiny and harsh pronouncements on her intelligence and appearance.

With no small amount of relief they found Teagan's modest townhouse on a small side street, deep in the heart of the palace district, without further incident. The seneschal, Raoul, was expecting them and Josslyn was overjoyed to drop her burdens, quite literally in the middle of the entryway. She was escorted to her room by a young male elf who had the misfortune to be named Gonzo. The young man was shy and deferential and who could blame him with that name. The teasing he must have endured as a child.

"Gonzo, I'm not a part of the nobility, I'm a mage and a Grey Warden. Do not do that bobbing thing, please," Joss implored after the young man had bobbed in her direction yet again.

"As milady wishes," the servant maddeningly said.

Her room, the servant explained, was Bann Teagan's private suite and it was his express wish that Joss stay there for as long as she wanted. What was the point of staying if he wasn't there to share the wide bed with her, she wondered. Judging by the placid expression Gonzo wore, she had not verbalized her thoughts for a change. _Perhaps I can be housebroken yet._ Joss smiled wryly.

Naturally, there was a small vase on the desk, containing a lavender rose, which made Joss want to sigh like a moonstruck maiden. Teagan had a very romantic soul. There was also a letter resting against the vase, seal unbroken, with her name on it. As soon as Gonzo left, with yet one more bob, Joss reached out for the letter. Her fingers were just short of their intended target when there was a sharp rap on the wall behind her. She frowned and reached for the letter again. Again there was a sharp rap on the wall behind her. Twice more she reached for the letter. Twice more the rap interrupted her.

"Andraste's pointy beard! Who's there?" she cried out in frustration.

"My dear Warden, is that any way for a lady to speak?" the wall asked with cheeky good humor. Of course it wasn't actually the wall, she discovered upon closer inspection. It was a carefully concealed door and Zevran was on the other side of it.

He was, he explained with a languorous smile, exploring the best escape routes should they find themselves surrounded by Loghain's men. "It is best to have a plan before it is needed," he explained, sauntering into the room. He eyed the bed appreciatively.

"Loghain is looking for some drab woman of little intelligence and a slack jawed boy. I think we're safe enough."

Zev shook his head, tutting softly as he did so. "Ah, there is nothing trickier than protecting a person who insists that they do not need it. Surely you do not wish to come to harm?"

"Surely you realize that I can take care of myself," Joss mimicked and then it became a game to them.

"Surely you do not expect me to let you out of my sight," Zev responded, staring at her with a leering grin.

"Surely you don't want to be turned into a toad. They are ugly and noisy and best served in soup."

"Surely you can understand my concern."

"Surely you will allow me some privacy."

They were interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Who is it?" Joss called out in exasperation.

"It is Leliana. I wished to discuss something with you but I will come back when you have finished your conversation with Zevran and Shirley!" Leliana sang out.

Who in the Maker's name was Shirley? Joss looked at Zev, who was trying very hard not to laugh. She found herself in the same predicament. Taking a deep breath, she managed to answer Leliana calmly enough before she was overcome with laughter. It seemed that Sister One Chorus Short of a Song had misunderstood the conversation, which was really not a surprise to Joss. At. All.

"Zev, I would really like for you to go out and nose around, see if there is any way we can get into the Grey Warden compound, listen to what's being said about the Blight, the Wardens, me. Do people really think I'm a drab redhead?" Joss instructed the assassin once she had stopped sniggering.

"For you, of course, my luscious Warden. Shall I kill those who sully your name?"

"Absolutely, although that might thin the population of Denerim a bit too much."

Yes, she definitely liked Zevran. He was smart, sassy and not at all hard on the eyes. He knew what needed to be done, brought a fresh perspective to the situation and made her feel marginally less incompetent.

As soon as he left, Joss once again reached for the missive from Teagan. Once again there was a rapping at her door. She wondered if anyone would hear her if she stamped her foot and cursed. She did it anyway.

"Who's there?" she called out and the door opened, admitting Wynne. Joss hadn't remembered asking the woman to enter, but it was so typical of Wynne to expect admittance as her due.

"What is it?" Joss asked and her mood, which had been light, no longer was.

"I wish to discuss your plans. I am not sure we should waste time looking for this urn for Arl Eamon," the older woman began in the voice she loved to use when lecturing students; ah such lofty superiority. "There are the treaties with the dwarves and the Dalish to consider. I can't imagine the Archdemon will wait forever."

Joss felt her nerves stretch and tighten. "Oh? I hadn't realized that. Thank you for bringing it to my attention," Joss replied, sardonic and cool. She really was proud of herself for not zapping the old bat.

"It's impossible to talk to you when you take that attitude," Wynne said, folding her arms across her chest and rocking on the balls of her feet.

"Talk? Really? Wynne, you _never_ talk. You lecture. You sermonize. You pontificate. You do not converse. Big difference. Huge, actually," Joss said heatedly. So much for the cool, sardonic approach. "You are condescending and you scold and cluck like an old hen left out of the chicken coop."

Joss watched Wynne's expression go from shocked to angry before settling into sad lines, her mouth tight. The older mage spoke again, her voice clipped. "I'm here to help you, Josslyn, not lecture you. Why do you make everything so difficult, take everything so personally?"

"Everything? Or my brother's death?" Joss shot back angrily and then waved a hand towards the door. "Never mind, I don't want to know."

But Wynne didn't take the hint. She continued, implacable. "You're wearing yourself out because you won't let the rest of us help you. I am concerned for you."

Joss moved then, so quickly that the older woman instinctively stepped back. "I suppose it is your advanced age that makes you assume yours is the only voice of reason. I am sure it is your vast experience, given your age, that makes you sure your advice is wanted by everyone. But here's the thing, Wynne. You aren't a Grey Warden. You aren't my mother. You are no longer my teacher. You are here to heal injuries on the battlefield and to be struck down if your Fade spirit becomes a demon. You are not here to tell me how to run a Blight, or stop a Blight. For whatever reason, I am in charge, not you. It's best you remember that."

She watched as Wynne flinched and while Joss took some small amount of joy in that, she also felt guilty. "You need to go now, Wynne, before we both say more than we should." Yes, right, as if it wasn't already too late for that, Joss thought tiredly.

Walking to the window, Joss pushed the heavy damask drapes aside and stared down at the walled garden below. She waited for the soft click of the door and as soon as she heard it, her shoulders sagged. Old biddy. Old, interfering, meddling, bothersome, biddy; a constant reminder of Joseph's death, of Josslyn's own failings. What had she been thinking, offering to bring Wynne with them? Well obviously she hadn't been thinking. At. All.

Turning around again, Joss reached once more for the letter. This time she actually picked it up before there was a sharp rat-tat-tat on her door. "Andraste's fat ass! What is it?" she shouted in frustration.

"Andraste's ass is not fat," Alistair disagreed in shocked tones. His voice was surprisingly loud through the solid oak of the door. She let him in. Her tension began to ease. It was impossible to be angry when in Alistair's company, she had discovered, which was a good thing because she had been very angry in Wynne's company. And she'd been very angry with herself for letting Wynne get to her so easily. And Maker, she missed her old life in Kinloch Hold.

"You've personally examined Andraste's ass, have you?" Joss asked, her voice low and suggestive. "So you aren't just a breast man?"

Alistair's blush marched up his neck and into his cheeks like a conquering army.

"I – I," he began and faltered, glaring at her. "I hate you," he grumbled.

Joss leaned over and kissed his blazing cheek. "That is a shame. I actually like you," she replied and then waved him into a chair.

"Now, what can I do for my favorite Warden."

"Really? I'm your favorite?" Alistair asked, his embarrassed blush giving way to a boyish grin.

"You are indeed. Now why have you come to see me in my bedchamber?" she asked, coating the last word with enough innuendo to make his blush return at a run. She was so evil and yet it was such fun to watch his cheeks turn rosy red. She'd never met anyone who blushed so easily.

"Uh – I – oh, right. I have a sister in Denerim and I thought I might look her up since we're here."

Joss found she needed to sit down after that bit of news. The bastard prince had a sister? That was surprising. Or maybe not, if rumors about Maric were true, though those types of rumors were generally exaggerated.

"Another Maric love child?" she blurted out and then shook her head. "Sorry, I didn't mean it to sound so crude. Tell me about this sister. Older? Younger?"

"She's older and a laundress from what I've learned. She – she doesn't know about me, I don't think. I just found out about her before we went to Ostagar."

"By all means, Alistair, you should go and meet her," Joss encouraged.

"What? Alone?" he squeaked.

"Is my big, brave, buff templar afraid of a laundress? What do you think she'll do to you? Wring your neck? Hang you out to dry? Maker's teeth, Alistair, what could possibly be frightening about her?"

It seemed that Joss was susceptible to puppy dog eyes, which Alistair took full advantage of. Without another word, she donned her cloak, whistled for Styx, and walked the narrow, dirty alleyways with Alistair, in search of his long lost sister. Who was a complete and utter bitch, as Alistair remarked bleakly on their way back to Teagan's townhouse.

In the woman's defense, she had been lied to by Eamon. From the worn and weary look, and the bitterness that clung to her like wet cat hair, Goldanna had lived a very difficult life. Five children and barely older than Joss, she looked immeasurably older. And there was absolutely no resemblance between brother and sister. None. At. All. That struck Joss as strange but then she had looked very much like her brother since they were twins. Maybe not all brothers and sisters shared similar features and traits.

The woman had demanded money, which Alistair flatly refused to give her. That surprised Joss. She hadn't realized how much stronger he was becoming. Of course he had been afraid to visit the woman without bringing someone along, but it was progress.

"She hates me and I don't exactly like her," he muttered, kicking the dust up with his the toe of his boot.

"Don't blame her, Alistair. I suspect your life in the hayloft was more comfortable than the life she's led."

"If that's what family is like, I'm glad I don't have one," he replied and then looked stricken at the thought.

"Family isn't like that in normal circumstances. Or well, I don't think so. And family isn't about blood anyway," Joss told him firmly, tucking her hand into his and pulling him along. "We're family, aren't we?"

"Hmmm, I guess we are. Yes, definitely family," Alistair agreed, his dark mood shifting into the light.

"Say, Joss, what happened to your brother, exactly?" he asked quietly and Joss sighed, coming to a stop again. Well, she couldn't very well tell him they were family and not tell him about Joseph, she supposed. But she wasn't about to tell him while they were standing in the middle of the street. She eyed a seedy looking tavern and pulled him along.

The place was dark and dingy but the ale, served in tin mugs, was surprisingly good. Joss downed one and immediately ordered another. Alistair sipped his rather daintily. No doubt he'd gotten drunk on ale before, judging from the way he nursed his mug, Joss thought with a grin. She wanted to lean over and ruffle his hair except there were bits of something nasty in it.

Styx curled up at her feet and placed his front paws over his eyes before promptly falling asleep. She wondered briefly if dogs dreamed and decided some day she would have to enter the Fade and find out.

"Your brother?" Alistair prompted, leaning forward on his elbows.

Joss toyed with her mug, trying to decide how much of her sordid past she was willing to discuss with her newly acquired younger brother. Sighing, she began an abbreviated version.

"Joseph was my twin brother. I was four when I went to the tower. He came to the tower when he was ten but he knew all about it before then. We would meet in the Fade and I'd tell him stories about living in Kinloch Hold and he would tell me about life on the family estate."

"You were pretty young to be sent to the tower. What happened?"

"Joseph and I were having a snowball fight one afternoon and the seneschal reported it to the chantry. Templars were there the next day and bye-bye family."

"How did a snowball fight cause you to be taken by the templars?"

Gah! Was he going to let her get through the tale quickly or was he going to question everything she said? She glared at him and he dropped his eyes to study his mug of beer. She hated talking about Joseph. She hated it and usually refused and Alistair apparently didn't know how fortunate he was to hear even a short version of the story.

"It was the middle of summer. I was too young to know better, I guess, although given my penchant for getting into trouble, that might not have stopped me," Joss reflected wryly.

"At any rate, he came to the tower, we practiced our magic and figured out that our ability to wander the Fade at will was not an ordinary talent. Irving and the senior enchanters wanted us to hone our skills and use them to learn more about the Fade and kill any demons that got in our way. Joseph was always nervous about doing that, but I loved it and teased him unmercifully about being better than he was.

"Wynne decided he just needed practice since his magic had manifested in him later than mine. She worked him relentlessly and Joseph just seemed to withdraw more and more. A spirit offered to help him and he allowed the spirit into him, a spirit of Diligence. I didn't know until the spirit tapped into Joseph's frustration and fear, his jealousy over my abilities, and suddenly my lovely twin was a raging abomination. Greagoir struck him down with a sword of mercy while I watched," Joss finished and then downed her second mug of ale in several long pulls.

Alistair, showing a common sense she hadn't thought he possessed, said nothing. She was grateful for that, at least. She tossed some silver on the table and stood up.

"Now, let's figure out where this Brother Gingertea fellow lives and then get a pint in a slightly cleaner tavern."

"Genitivi," Alistair corrected.

"Right, that's what I said."

Instead of getting directions, they got lost. Horribly so. As in life and death lost. The alley they had wandered into was a dead end and the group of thugs that surrounded them seemed intent on robbing them and worse, judging from the gap-toothed leer of the leader.

Joss immediately began casting but before she was halfway through the words of her paralyzing spell, she was clobbered and fell to the ground with a roar of pain and anger. Alistair was doing his best to protect her and Styx was ripping the throat open on one of the miscreants but they were outnumbered and Joss really just wanted to have a lie-down until the stars stopped falling in front of her eyes. Instead she staggered to her feet and let her anger fuel her spells.

The first spell she cast was absolutely awesome and terrifying in its intensity. And oh, did it feel good to watch that gap-toothed, inbred cretin go sailing through the air and land on his backside against a stone wall. His head made an odd squish as it snapped back and made contact with the slate.

When the last of their attackers fell, victim of Alistair's sword, Joss sank back down and looked around for her breath. Her robe was torn, her hair in wild disarray and somehow she'd broken the low heel of her boot. Or, more accurately, the heel was gone completely. She reached up to rub the growing lump on her forehead where the gap-toothed arse had beaned her with his shield.

Alistair was sheathing his sword and grinning proudly at the pile of bodies surrounding him. "Seven. Seven! I am awesome!" he crowed.

"And lost. Don't forget lost," she added, struggling to stand.

They encountered two more groups of thugs before they finally found a group of city guardsmen, led by a handsome sergeant. "Warden, these alleyways aren't safe," he warned.

_Why thank you Sergeant Obvious_. And there is was again. Did she project righteous Grey Wardening as she walked along? Was there a tattoo on her forehead that proclaimed to the world that she was a Grey Warden? If Loghain's wanted posters of her didn't look a thing like her, why did everyone know she was a Warden?

"You have me confused with someone else," she murmured, limping along the dusty road.

The sergeant just grinned and shook his head. "Everybody knows you name, Warden, and what you look like. Not that the drawing is all that accurate. And your hair is definitely not red."

Joss, had she not been too sore and exhausted, would have cheered at that. Instead she raised a tired eyebrow and kept walking, leaning against Styx, her hand buried in his fur to steady her.

Sergeant Kylon gallantly escorted Joss, Alistair and Styx to a small house set back from the market square. A handsome, well built man, he was courteous and kind as he bowed slightly. "If you decide on a different line of work, look me up, Warden. We can always use more help, especially with all the refugees pouring in."

"Thank you, Sgt. Kylon, but we will be leaving in the morning," Joss assured him, promising herself that they would, no matter what. She wanted away from the madness of the city.

All that work to find his home and Brother Genitivi wasn't even there. His assistant, Weylon, answered their knock and ushered them inside. He was as nervous as a cat at a mabari convention. The more he talked about Genitivi and the urn, the more contradictory his answers became.

"I'm sorry, but I just have to say this, Weylon. You are, quite possibly, the worst liar I have ever met. Unless you meant that while you were talking to Brother Genitivi you were also reading his journal, even though you don't actually know where he is?" Joss asked with just the faintest bit of sarcasm in her voice.

She had no idea he would take such offense at her tone. Had she known, she'd have been much more insulting. As it happened, he was no better a fighter than he was a liar; he was a mage with a poorly developed sense of skill and direction. As his fireball left his fingertips, it danced in the air in front of him for a few brief seconds before hitting him full in the face. Joss found her own spell fizzling as she snorted, the words to her spell dying on her lips. She hadn't seen a mage do that in a long time, and never with a fireball. There were reasons young mages were sent to the Circle of Magi and learning how to properly cast a spell would be number one on the list.

A brief search of the scholar's house turned up a journal and a dead body. She took the journal and left the body. "Does it strike you that nearly the entire population of Ferelden is either mad, on their way to being mad, or asking for directions on how to get there?"

"Blight's do that from what I've read," Alistair said sagely, and then grinned. "Still, Weylon wasn't mad as much as he was stupid."

Joss was still chortling when they found their way into a tavern near Genitivi's house and that promised mug of ale in a clean establishment. The Gnawed Noble, where only the nobles dared drink, was clean and brightly lit and just what Joss was looking for.

The entire place went deathly quiet when Joss, Styx and Alistair entered. She supposed it could be the splashes of blood that adorned her tattered gown, or maybe it was her limp, caused by her missing heel. Could it possibly be the large lump and associated bruise in the middle of her forehead, giving the appearance of a third eye? Maybe it was her hair, only half of which was still neatly pinned up in a chignon. The other half was a stringy mess, sticky with a substance she wouldn't even guess at. She glanced over at Alistair. Maybe it was the bits of Weylon still clinging to Alistair's breastplate? Or the dirt and blood staining his face? The bit of entrails stuck to his left vambrace?

As it turned out, it was none of those things. The proprietress pointed to a sign that hung near the bar.

"_No shoes, no shirt, no service_."

Joss glanced down at her feet. Both her feet were encased in her battered brown boots. She then looked at Alistair's feet. Both were encased in his dust covered greaves and boots. They both wore shirts of a sort. So what was the problem? She glared at the woman who was preventing her from slaking her thirst. The thought of a nice cold mug of beer had been the only thing driving her on through the numerous fights they'd had. She was tired and thirsty. Her mouth was watering. She wanted a damned drink!

"In the strictest sense, we meet the requirements," Joss finally said and cringed at the hint of whine in her voice. The proprietress shook her head.

"Your friend there, the furry one? No shoes. No shirt. No service."

Joss loathed Denerim.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N:** _This chapter is from Teagan's PoV. I'm guessing you already guessed that from the title, but I do so love to state the obvious. _

**Bann Teagan's Excellent Adventure**

Teagan Guerrin had spent his entire life being the biddable younger brother. He didn't make waves. He didn't take any action that might blemish the family name. He was discreet and well mannered. He was a caring and dutiful overseer of Rainesfere, believing he had an obligation to the people who lived under his protection. And while he was not a martyr to Rainesfere and its holdings, neither was he reckless or abusive with the power given him. He was happy as a bann, delighted with the close-knit community of Rainesfere, had thought himself content.

Because he was the younger son, there were no expectations placed on Teagan as he was growing up. He had always preferred it that way. Expectations were disappointments waiting to happen. Or so he told himself. Because of the lack of expectations he had been given a freedom that his older brother and sister had not been afforded.

He had learned how to be a steward of the land and its people through the examples of Teyrn Bryce Cousland, Bann Renfrew of Goldenvale*, Bann Alfstanna and others. He had most assuredly not learned such leadership under his brother's tutelage. Eamon had always been more interested in how to gain political power and influence than how to gain the loyalty of those who served him. For Eamon it was more about the appearance rather than the actual action. It had been a bitter revelation for Teagan to discover how cunning and shrewd his brother was, how manipulative he could be.

Everything Eamon had done or would do was motivated by politics and how it would benefit him or the Guerrin name. Everything except marrying Isolde and even then Teagan wondered at his true motivation. Had Eamon married her as a protection, a hedging of his bet in the event the Orlesians decided to reclaim Ferelden? At the time of their marriage her family was in high favor with the Imperial Court of Orlais.

Now, with Eamon gravely ill and Connor a mage, Teagan was very much afraid that he wouldn't be returning to Rainesfere, as much as he wanted to. Unless a miracle could be found very soon, Eamon would not live to see the arrival of autumn. Teagan, not a big believer in miracles, decided he could not sit back and let someone else try to find the cure if he wasn't willing to do the same. He could not let someone else decide his fate.

Maker, he missed the Bannorn, missed the quiet estate and the monthly hunts with other banns, missed the unencumbered life of an unattached minor noble. Unencumbered? Who was he trying to fool? After more than a month overseeing the arling, the people of Redcliffe were friends now. They were no longer a nameless, faceless group who meant nothing to him. He knew them; knew their fears, their hopes. He felt the same responsibility and kinship with them that he felt with the people of Rainesfere. He didn't want that responsibility, but neither could he ignore it.

Teagan had been struggling with the transition from Bann Teagan of Rainesfere to acting Arl of Redcliffe, feeling completely out of his depth. Suddenly he was overwhelmed by expectations. He was obliged to do everything in his power, limited though it was, to help the villagers. He had never felt so inept in his life; had, in fact, felt completely helpless until Joss had arrived. She had blown in like a spring breeze. He chuckled. Hardly a spring breeze, more like a wild and unpredictable summer tempest.

With her came the most mismatched group he'd ever met but they had worked together efficiently, if sometimes a bit oddly, to accomplish what he and the people of Redcliffe had not managed. They had stopped the nightly attacks. And as a reward, he had sent Josslyn and her companions on some mad quest that he hadn't had the courtesy to undertake with her. He had been so wrapped up in doing the expected thing he had forgotten to do the right thing. When that realization smacked into him he immediately set about making travel plans.

With a relieved sigh, Teagan Guerrin dismounted. He handed the reins to the groom before patting Rufous on the neck. The horse nickered at him, as glad to have the journey over as Teagan was. Turning, Teagan took the steps two at a time and entered the house. He had ridden hard and there wasn't a muscle that didn't ache but he hoped the ride had been worth it. He usually didn't follow his heart, he usually followed the path of least resistance, yet he couldn't help but feel good about his decision.

"William, Theodore, the kitchens are down that long hallway. I'm sure you'll find ale and food in plentiful supply," Teagan told the two soldiers who had accompanied him. They were good men who were already excited about an adventure in Denerim, away from the heavy pall of grief still hanging in the air in Redcliffe.

If someone had told him that he would find himself attracted to a rather impertinent, and not entirely sane, mage Teagan would have laughed at the absurdity of it. Josslyn Amell was the most curious creature he'd ever met and not at all the type he was usually attracted to. Not that he had a specific type, per se.

As he handed his saddle bags and riding cape to the young man standing quietly in the foyer, he understood clearly that his 'type' had always been the cool and reserved women who were not likely to fall in love with him any more than he was likely to fall in love with them. They were always friends, nothing more. He'd played it safe with his heart, having affairs with women who would never touch him emotionally. He had quickly come to understand that Joss was neither cool nor reserved, and she most definitely was not safe, nor was his heart.

"Good evening, Bann Teagan."

Teagan smiled wearily. "Good evening, Raoul. Has Lady Josslyn retired for the night?"

Raoul replied wryly, "Yes, Bann Teagan. She was most adamant about being left alone. I would be careful were I you. She painted quite a colorful picture of what would happen were anyone foolish enough to disturb her. I believe she is quite capable of carrying out her threats."

Teagan could well imagine what those threats might entail, but he hoped she would make an exception for him. He smiled at his seneschal and then climbed the stairs. He was surprised to find himself nervous, not overly so, just a flutter in his stomach as he made his way to his room. He had every expectation that she wouldn't do anything too colorful to him, and that any spell she cast on him would be of the variety she had shared in their previous time together. He walked quietly down the hallway to the door at the far end. He started to open the door and then hesitated, rapping lightly on the door instead.

"Oh Maker's ass! If the Archdemon isn't at the front gates demanding a party be thrown in his honor, I don't want to be interrupted!" Joss yelled from inside.

Teagan grinned. Her weeks on the road had certainly not mellowed her, thank the Maker. He tapped on the door again.

"Alright, that's it! I don't care if you are Andraste reborn, I will turn you into the biggest…Teagan!" Joss cried, flinging the door open.

"Can you turn a Teagan into a Teagan?" he asked, smiling at her expression; mortification mixing with undisguised joy. He'd accept that.

But as he stood in the hall, waiting for an invitation to enter his own room, he saw that her joy and mortification was rapidly becoming suspicion and Maker's breath, was that fear? She was afraid of him? That didn't bode well for the reunion he'd been thinking about for the last few hours of his journey.

"Are you real?" she asked, scowling at him.

"You could allow me in and I would be happy to demonstrate how real I am," he replied with no small amount of amusement.

"What are you doing here?" she asked in a voice that sounded slightly breathless. A much better reaction to his arrival. A knot of tension in his stomach eased. She ushered him in.

"Did you not read my letter?"

Unexpectedly, she sat down on the edge of the bed and started laughing. She waved him over and, reaching into the pocket of her wrapper, she withdrew his letter, seal still intact. He frowned, waiting for an explanation and trying to ignore the bubble of concern her odd behavior provoked.

"Josslyn? Are you not well?" he finally asked. Well obviously she wasn't. Tears were streaming down her face as she continued to wave the letter at him and laugh rather maniacally. Which was a bit worrisome. Suddenly his plan seemed ill conceived at best and he wondered if he had been completely wrong about what was between them. Unconsciously, he took a rather large step back from her.

Finally, her mirth subsiding, she began to explain that every time she had tried to read his letter she had been interrupted. If it wasn't a personal crisis involving one of her companions, it was a request that needed her immediate attention or a servant attending to her. Teagan smiled uncertainly, still a bit concerned and unsure if his course of action had been the wisest.

He turned his attention away from his thoughts and focused on her instead. He wanted to ravish her. She wore her hair pulled away from her face and held back with a pale green ribbon. Her soft wool wrapper was the color of moss and clung to her glorious curves. There was a hint of her slender legs peeking out from the opening in her wrapper and it made him warm to think of those legs. Or at least certain parts of him were warm and getting warmer as he continued to gaze upon her long, slender legs.

His eyes traveled to her lips, curved in laughter and stained dark from the red wine she had been drinking. There was a goblet of it beside the wingback chair. Ah, that might account for her odd behavior. His eyes moved on her slim, straight nose and continued upward to see the mirth filling her dark green eyes with their flecks of gold and brown. And then his eyes rested on the largest knot he'd ever seen.

Once his eyes landed there it was impossible for them _not_ to continually return there. It was large - huge actually - the size of a fist. The skin there was shiny and red, as if someone had put a sugar glaze on an apple. In fact, now that he thought about it, and it was impossible _not_ to think about it, it resembled the size, shape and color of a small apple. Around the lump, in perfect concentric rings, were bruises of varying shades of purple. He had the odd thought that if the age of a tree could be told by counting its rings it might also be possible to tell the age…he let that thought trail off, not at all sure he really wanted to know when she had received the goose-egg or how, for that matter.

Finally, her voice drew him back to study her mouth. He wanted very much to kiss those lips that were still curved in a smile. She obviously still found the world an amusing place. His unease began to further recede. Perhaps the wine, in combination with the lump on her forehead, was the reason she seemed slightly out of control. It was an explanation he could live with. His shoulders relaxed.

"Did you know that there are wanted posters of me plastered all over Denerim? And that you can't take ten steps in this city without tripping over a beggar, bandit or bounty hunter?"

"So you're a very popular lady? Hardly surprising, my dear," Teagan answered, finally beginning to comprehend just how trying her stay in Denerim had been so far.

"Are you here because you don't trust that I can get my tasks done without your help? I've done quite well without it so far," she accused suddenly, tipping her head slightly so that she could look up at him.

Nodding in agreement, his eyes once more fell on the large knot sitting like a watchful, unblinking eye in the middle of her forehead. "Yes, I can see that quite clearly," he agreed with as serious a tone as he could muster. It was not easy and he hoped she appreciated the effort.

"All evidence to the contrary," she agreed ruefully, reaching up to touch the offending injury. He couldn't help but wince when she did. However, the humor with which she told the story of her adventures, right down to her not being served a drink at the Gnawed Noble, had him chuckling. His eyes, though, no matter how much he ordered them otherwise, kept returning to that large lump in the middle of her forehead.

"It's hardly amusing, Bann Teagan," she said with a huff, glowering at him. He saw her lips twitch and her eyes crinkle at the corners.

With considerable effort, he swallowed any further chuckles and again nodded. "Of course, dear lady. You are as brave as you are beautiful," he agreed when he was sure his voice no longer quivered with amusement. Again his eyes flickered to the knot.

"I'm actually considering painting some eyelashes on it and naming it Lumpy. What do you think?" she asked finally, raising a brow and trying to catch his eyes with her own gaze. He had to force himself to look away from what would forever now be known as Lumpy in his mind.

"A good name. A strong name. Much better than Bumpy," he agreed, tilting his head in a contemplative manner. "Although Knotty has a certain appeal," he added.

Her laughter bubbled up again and he found himself watching the way the lump moved with the sound. It looked very much like a living, breathing thing. He had the worst urge to reach over and touch it.

"You feel the need to touch it, don't you? You want to rub my lump?" she teased as if reading his mind.

"My lady, I would never be so bold or so impolite," he replied. "And there are other lumps much more worthy of attention," he added softly.

And before he could explain his reasons for arriving in the middle of the night, as detailed in the letter she had yet to read, she flung herself off the bed and into his arms, her eyes reflecting a sudden flame of desire. Or madness. At the moment he wasn't entirely sure. When she spoke, he was relieved to find his first thought was correct.

"I have to disabuse you of the notion that I'm a lady," she whispered, enticing and vibrant. That whisper went straight to his blood, waking it, and other things, up. He had climbed the stairs not minutes before utterly weary and now he was most definitely not weary. What was it that caused him to react so quickly to her? Did he really care to analyze it? He thought now was not the time to do so.

"Indeed, my dear woman, and just how do you propose to do that?" he asked against the soft skin of her neck. He breathed deeply. She had bathed recently and he could still smell the scent of the soap on her skin. He felt as if he was home in that moment.

She reached up her hand to caress his cheek and he captured it with his own, turning her hand over and kissing her palm softly before moving to drop a kiss on her wrist, letting his tongue flick out against the satin of her skin there. Her breath caught as he feathered another kiss along her wrist.

"I used to think that I was quite adept at the art of seduction. I see now I am a rank amateur," she hummed, moving closer and closer until he could feel the soft swell of her breasts brush against him.

"I think we are evenly matched," he murmured, skimming his hands from her hips to the curve of her waist and up until his thumbs brushed the underside of her supple breasts.

Their lips met and his world tipped and swayed. Her fingers became busy with the buckles and laces of his leather jerkin. "You wear more clothes than a virgin bride," Joss complained with a tender smile, her fingers continuing with their assigned task.

"Indeed. Had I been thinking I would have ridden here nude," he agreed with a hum of pleasure as her hands moved to begin exploring his now bared chest. Her fingers were light and teasing as they journeyed south.

She straightened and untied the knot of her belt. "There is a reason mages in the tower wear robes and templars wear skirts," she agreed, tossing the belt of her wrapper aside.

Her skin was soft and warm and welcoming as his hands parted her now unbelted wrapper. His lips found the sensitive curve where her neck and shoulder met and he felt the heated rush of his blood as she moaned, her hands coming to tangle in his hair.

"My luscious Warden I have discovered that…oh, I see you are busy. This can wait," a thickly accented voice said from behind Teagan. Teagan let out a startled yelp, wondering rather frantically where he had left his sword.

"Zevran! Don't you ever knock?" Joss complained, pulling her wrapper closed and glaring just over Teagan's right shoulder.

"I had no reason to suspect you would be wrestling with a rather handsome man while I was out risking my life to find the information you sought, my dear."

"I don't care if you think I'm with someone or alone, there is a reason doors are closed," Joss fumed, hands on hips. Her wrapper parted slightly and Teagan glimpsed the pale curve of a breast. He sighed his disappointment before turning to see who had entered Josslyn's room without regard for her privacy.

A cocky grin stretched across a handsome elf's face. The man was studying Teagan with avid interest, allowing his eyes to travel first up and then down Teagan's body, resting briefly on the bulge that was beginning to ache with frustration.

"Who in the Maker's name are you?" Teagan growled, surprised by the amount of jealous suspicion in his voice. He was not, by nature, a jealous man.

"I might ask you the same thing, my friend, as you are the one molesting my dear Warden."

Teagan's hands, unhappy at no longer exploring Josslyn's silky skin, formed into fists. "I would hardly call that molesting," he protested. "Josslyn, tell this…" his voice trailed off…this what? Peeping Elf?

"Assassin," Joss supplied helpfully, the merest hint of a snicker in her voice.

"Assassin?" Teagan echoed in alarm and disbelief. He felt his left eyebrow arch as he swung back to look at Joss. She was trying very hard not to smile. He wasn't sure what there was to smile about, exactly.

"Zevran Arainai, Antivan Crow at your service," the elf mocked, bowing at the waist.

Teagan's fists twitched ever so slightly. They wanted to punch the smug bastard. There was something about the grin the elf wore that just screamed to be removed physically. To his surprise, he found himself quite happy to listen to his fists.

Nobody was more shocked by his action than he was. Well, perhaps the assassin was, as he hadn't even dodged the blow and Teagan was fairly certain, given the elf's lithe grace, that he could have done so quite easily had he been expecting it. Josslyn gave a startled cry, louder and slightly shrill, a sound that he would have thought her capable of making. It took him a few seconds to realize she was also cursing. Profusely. Her robe had parted and there was now more than a hint of her breasts in view.

Before he could decide what his next course of action would be, the bedroom door was flung open. It banged into the wall, sending the vase on a small table nearby rocking. As if in slow motion, the vase teetered and then tottered and then crashed to the floor. It was, Teagan realized, the vase that held her lavender rose. So much for romantic gestures, he thought inanely. He wondered if this was what hysteria felt like. The need to laugh and shout in frustration and tear someone's head off. Maybe it was less hysteria and more frustration. He wasn't entirely sure.

"Get away from her!" Alistair yelled and then gave a strangled cry. "I – I – agh, my eyes! Cover up!" the young man squeaked in panic, stumbling backwards. Teagan looked down. He was mostly covered, thanks to all the interruptions. He glared at Alistair, who couldn't see the glare because he was looking at the ceiling, his face the color of a sun-ripened tomato.

Styx arrived then, with a low and menacing growl, launching himself at Teagan, who feared for his life knowing how strong the dog's jaws were. The mabari lunged at him before Teagan had time to react but, to his great relief, Styx placed his paws on Teagan's shoulders and began to lick his face in greeting.

Above the yelling and confusion from those in the room, he heard another voice add to the mix, the Orlesian sister reciting the Chant. And who was the old woman in the threadbare wrapper, frowning at them in disapproval? Did she think _he_ approved of the pandemonium?

Teagan wondered if now would be a good time to slink back to Redcliffe.

*_Bann Renfrew of Goldenvale is Leonie Caron's uncle from the Lion series._


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N**: _This is already a bit AU and will become more so as the story progresses. And there's a bit of smut here and there in this chapter so be warned. Also, necessary filler chapter is…necessary. Sorry about that.  
My continued thanks to all those who are reading along, especially those who review and PM me. Your thoughts and comments really help shape the story and I appreciate them very much._

**Best Laid…Plans **

Light poured into the room, unrelentingly bright. Joss blinked and snuggled deeper into the blankets. She would have to apologize again for the drapes. She hadn't meant for them to catch on fire, but it didn't seem to surprise anyone, considering the chaos. She'd bumped into the table with the lamp on it, sending lamp, flame and oil to splash against the damask drapes. Which were, it turned out, extremely combustible. In her defense, she had cast a spell almost without thought that extinguished the flames. However, the drapes were ruined and hanging in charred shreds, allowing the morning sun to paint the room in blinding hues of white.

She felt the warmth of Teagan's body pressed against her back and she rolled over. He was still asleep, looking remarkably peaceful given the previous night's insanity. His thick brown lashes formed almost perfect fans on his cheeks. She found herself envious of his extravagant lashes. A strand of his nut brown hair fell softly along his cheek and she reached over to brush it back. He stirred and opened one blue eye, the other being hidden by his pillow.

"Good morning," he murmured, turning his head slightly.

"I didn't mean to wake you," Joss said softly, embarrassed to have been caught watching him sleep. It seemed a slightly creepy thing to do to a person. She supposed she could blame it on the fact that it was only the second time she'd actually spent an entire night with a man and both times had been him, but he was smiling sleepily and drifting off again so she held her tongue for once.

There was so much to do and so little time to do it in, Joss really ought to be up and dressed by now but the sensation of a body so close to hers, radiating warmth, was irresistible. And novel. She let her fingertips brush against his lips. Immensely more satisfying than sleep or planning for her departure. His eyes opened again and he kissed her fingers as they rested lightly on his lips.

"Irresistible," she explained with an embarrassed smile.

"Yes you are," he said, pulling her flush.

"I mean you."

"And I mean you," he replied and stopped her half formed argument with a kiss that started out slow and soft and made her forget everything including her own name.

She couldn't get any closer to him but that didn't stop her from trying. He draped a leg over her hip, his lips leaving hers to nip at her neck. She let her hand wander along the length of his thigh, a moan escaping as she felt his teeth graze against her skin. Rolling onto his back, he pulled her with him and she straddled him. He held his hands out to her and she laced her fingers with his.

"You are very bad for my resolve," she chided with a teasing smile.

He pulled her down for another kiss, his tongue seeking hers, before pulling away slightly, a wicked gleam in his eyes, "Are the wards still active?"

After the fiasco of the previous evening, Joss had carefully cast wards on the doors. Anyone coming within three feet of the door would find themselves on the receiving end of a mild jolt; a friendly reminder not to disturb the occupants of the room.

"For another hour, hopefully," she replied with a grin. "One of the benefits of being a mage," she added, returning to her task of kissing him from stem to stern.

He had a unique scent, leather and musk and the earth after a rain shower; a smell she had discovered on her journey across Ferelden and fallen in love with. She loved the way his breath hissed out and his hands tightened on her shoulders when she took him into her mouth.

"Oh no, Lady Josslyn," he said in a husky voice. He gently guided her back up the length of his body. "There is somewhere I would much rather be right now."

"Oh? You wish to go the Denerim market? Perhaps the Chantry? The Palace?" she teased, punctuating each question with a kiss.

"Paradise," he whispered against her lips, thrusting into her with one long stroke.

She had been right; the man was much better at seduction than she was. He knew just what to say and when to say it. That was her last coherent thought for some time.

Joss shivered, more than happy to accompany him, rocking and arching as he thrust. He guided their intertwined fingers to her bud and together they teased it until she was panting and gasping, her head thrown back as her orgasm raced headlong at her. His name became her anchor as she cried it over and over, her muscles clenching and fluttering around him. He was only seconds behind her, as if he only allowed his own release once he knew she had found hers. Nobody was that selfless. Were they? Joss shivered and lowered her head to rest on his shoulder as she tried to regain her breath.

"I'm not a lady," she said firmly when speech was once again possible. She gently disentangled herself before standing up and stretching. She realized she was just a bit sore from all their nocturnal adventures. "I don't know why you persist in saying otherwise."

"You want to argue about that _now_?" Teagan asked, his voice rising slightly in surprise.

Joss, on her way to the bathroom to freshen up, looked over her shoulder at him. He was propped up on an elbow, the sheet draped around his waist. His expression was dismay mingled with amusement, crinkling his eyes and curling his brows. She grinned, turning to face him.

"Now. Nudity is a wonderful equalizer," she responded, hands on hips.

"For you, perhaps. I find it a wonderful distraction."

"Exactly my point. Would a _lady_ stand in a room arguing with a man while not wearing anything more than her smile?"

Teagan chuckled, sitting up. "Just one lady that I know of, the only one whose company I want," he replied with a boyish grin. Joss, rather disgruntled by just how handsome and charming he was, shook her head. She was no doubt a mess and her mind was still muzzy from sleep. Mornings were not kind to her. He was most definitely not a mess.

And he'd done it again. Perfect. He just knew how to say the right thing at exactly the right time. Joss frowned. "Do you ever put your foot in your mouth?" she complained, coming to perch on the bed again. "You disarm with your words, you charm with your words. It's quite a talent."

Teagan's smile tilted downward and the curve of his brow lowered. "Is that your polite way of saying I'm just like all those other nobles you dislike and distrust?" And just like that the room seemed colder.

_Oh. Well surprise, Joss. You've managed to offend the un-offendable_. _Idiot._

"Polite? Maker's mustache! You know I haven't a polite bone in me, Teagan Guerrin! I was trying to give you a compliment," she huffed.

"Were you, indeed? Yes, I see that now. It's very much like me referring to you as a lady, which is also meant as a compliment."

Joss lowered her head, allowing her hair to hide her smile. "Distracted my arse," she muttered, conceding the point.

Pulling her close, Teagan's lips rested on the crown of her head. "Distracted, not dead," he replied rather smugly and then yelped in surprise when the small jolt of electricity hit him.

"I see you are not above using devious methods to get what you want," he added with a wry smile.

"It's a gift, really."

Of course their morning alone didn't last. Josslyn was just about to get back into bed and show him just how devious she could be when they heard a loud and indignant cry outside their door, followed by the sound of a tray falling to the floor.

"There goes our tea and toast," Joss commented. She put her fist up to her mouth, trying to muzzle her laughter.

"I suppose I should apologize to Aubrey," Teagan agreed with a hint of a smile.

"Far be it from me to keep you from your appointed task," Joss sighed, rising once again to head for the bathroom. Teagan grabbed her hand, pulling her back onto the bed.

"Even the best laid plans can be set aside with the proper incentive," he whispered; a soft sigh of sultry wind along her skin. Joss happily gave him the proper incentive.

* * *

Joss had planned on leaving Denerim by mid-morning. Unfortunately no-one else fell in with the plan. She stumbled upon Jowan, who was busy practicing lunges with a sword, or in his case, a twig.

"Take that, darkspawn!" he crowed, swatting at a pillow that was innocently sitting on the settee. The pillow flew across the settee and landed on the floor. The twig snapped nearly in half. To her credit, Joss did not laugh but only because she willingly bit her cheek to stop from doing so.

"A new type of darkspawn?" she asked, reaching down to pick up the dead pillow.

Jowan jumped, spinning around, bent twig in hand. Abashed, he lowered it and gave her an embarrassed smile. "Just trying to be prepared in case one breaks through the line," he explained sheepishly.

"Ah. I've found that the twig defense leaves a lot to be desired. Perhaps a dagger or a shortsword would be of more use in defeating the evil darkspawn pillows of death?"

"Sure, but since you won't let me use blood magic, I've stopped carrying a dagger. I think you sold it to Bodahn."

"Right, I did, didn't I? Sorry. You know you could just use a good paralyzing spell. Maybe a glyph of repulsion?"

Poor Jowan, had he paid more attention to spell casting and less to the young ladies in his classes, he might actually be able to cast a halfway decent spell. As it was, his spells were improving, especially the entropy spells.

"I'll make you a deal, Jowan. You teach me that disorientation spell of yours and I'll teach you how to create a glyph of repulsion."

Disorientation spells were not only useful in close combat but they were a great deal of fun. The affected target would wander around, banging into things and dropping his weapon, missing his intended target. Almost as much fun as a misdirection hex.

Leaving him to practice making a glyph a short time later, she went in search of Alistair. He was sitting at a table in the kitchen, shoveling tarts into his mouth as fast as the cook could prepare them.

"Good morning, Alistair. I see your appetite didn't suffer from last night's debauchery."

The blush that suffused his cheeks put strawberries to shame. "I hate you," he grumbled around a full mouth. His cheeks were plump, full of tart no doubt, and he bore a striking resemblance to a chipmunk storing nuts for the winter. That thought made her laugh outright.

"Stop laughing you horrid woman."

"Yes ser, laughter stopped. Have you seen our resident raven? I want us to leave within the hour but apparently I'm the only one who wants to. I suppose the Archdemon will wait while we stuff our cheeks and practice killing pillows."

"Who's killing pillows?" Leliana asked, entering the kitchen from the other direction. She had been out in the herb garden with Wynne, who was right behind Sister One Egg Short of an Omelet. Or was she a few eggs shy of scrambled eggs? Or just plain scrambled eggs? Joss supposed it didn't really matter.

"Jowan, but that's not important right now. What is important is preparing to depart the fair city of Denerim within the hour."

"Oh must we, Josslyn? I wanted to try and find some new ribbons for your hair and perhaps a new pair of shoes for me. These clunky boots are just horrible," Sister Fruits and Nuts complained.

"Right, because it's clearly important to look your best when slaying darkspawn."

Wynne clicked her teeth in that really annoying manner she had that made Joss want to grind her teeth in response. "I need to replenish our supply of poultices and potions. It will take at least two hours. I need to go to The Wonders of Thedas and pick up several items."

Joss let out an exaggerated sigh of relief. "Wow, that's good. For a minute there I actually thought I was in charge of this little adventure. I'll just go back to bed for now and when you've taken a vote and decided what we'll do next and when we'll do it, send someone to wake me up. Oh," she added flippantly, "don't forget to send a note to the Archdemon and remind him that he's taking orders from Wynne right now. Silly bugger thinks he can do whatever he wants."

She turned to leave the kitchen and almost ran over Zevran, whose cheeky grin made her own lips twitch. "Zev, what brings you into the kitchen? A desire for a tart?"

Golden eyes scanning her from head to toe, Zev chuckled. "Ah, would that you were serious, my lovely Warden. But no, I have come to discuss my findings with you."

"Oh, right. The ones you were so eager to share last night that you barged into my room uninvited and unannounced? Those findings?"

"Just so, my dear."

"Wynne, make a list of what you need from the store. Leliana, help Jowan practice his glyphs. Alistair, find Cathair and Randal. I want you to teach them some templar spells."

Alistair spluttered, bits of tart flying out of his mouth. Joss was glad she was behind him. "I can't teach people those things! I swore an oath of secrecy!"

"Well, swear them to an oath of secrecy and nobody will ever know that you broke yours. I don't want four mages running amok with only one templar to smite them should the need arise."

Leaving the rest of the group to grouse in the kitchen, she went in search of a quiet spot to discuss just what Zev had discovered. What she found was Teagan, buckling into a set of armor. "Are we under attack?" Joss asked, moving to help him adjust a pauldron.

"Have you seen our room? One would certainly think so," Teagan responded around a grin.

"Yes, well, I have apologized. Several times, actually. Shall I again?" she asked, standing on her tiptoes to blow gently in his ear. He shivered. She did nothing more, all too aware of Zev's watchful gaze.

"I am coming with you," Teagan said in answer to her original question.

"I'm sorry?"

"I am coming with you. I meant it when I said it earlier."

Joss felt a blush heating her cheeks. "I thought you were talking about something else entirely," she confessed. In her defense, he had said so while they were exploring each other's hidden assets.

Teagan was surprised into an answering blush, a thing Joss had not thought possible from the urbane and charming man. "I'm sure Zevran doesn't want to know what we were talking about," he said wryly.

"On the contrary, Bann Teagan. I am all ears."

Joss glared at Zevran. Of course he was all ears. He was a bloody elf! "Not now, Zev. Give me a minute alone, please?"

A funny thing to ask an assassin whose favorite pastime seemed to be sneaking around in the shadows peeping at people. To his credit, he bowed and left with only a very quiet snicker.

"Now, what exactly do you mean when you say you are coming with me?"

Teagan took her hands and squeezed them gently and Joss was thankful he had not yet put his gauntlets on. She stared into his blue eyes and waited as patiently as she could, which is to say, she only tapped her foot twice.

"I sent you off to find a cure for my brother and that was wrong of me, Josslyn. I should be out finding it, he is my responsibility."

Was he crazy? Did he think she was doing this for the fun of it? Traipsing around all the backwaters of Ferelden on a field trip of some sort? Forced marching, mosquitoes, and darkspawn were the upside to the whole 'find an army of allies and defeat the Archdemon' thing.

"Absolutely not," she said, removing her hands from his because she was fairly certain he would be angry with her and that his gentle squeezing would become rather forceful. She was right. He was angry and the hands that had been gently squeezing hers were now fists held at his side.

"I wasn't asking for your permission, Josslyn. I am telling you that I am accompanying you."

"Ah, I see. So it doesn't really matter that the darkspawn disease could kill you? Or that every nameless, motherless moron in the country likes to throw themselves on our swords? Well, not my sword because I don't have one. Teagan, this isn't some organized tournament we're participating in."

"You put yourself in harm's way and yet you survive. Do you think I'm incapable of handling myself?"

Well, it was a nice relationship while it lasted. He was well and truly mad now. Josslyn Amell, Destroyer of Relationships. It had a certain ring to it. "I think you don't understand how dangerous fighting darkspawn can be. And the more we travel, the more we'll come across them. Their blood is poison, a slow poison that turns you into a soulless, crazy ghoul. That wouldn't be my first choice of occupations for you."

"And what of you, my lady? Do you not risk that as well?"

Oh, joy. More super secret stuff to blab about. She lowered her eyes and stared at the worn wooden slats of the floor. "Not exactly, no. I'm already on my way to becoming one of those crazy ghouls; it's just going to take thirty or so years to become one."

Joss wished she had a pin on her. Now would be the perfect time to test that old saying about it being so quiet one could hear a pin drop. She was pretty sure it was true because the silence in the room was complete. She finally got up the nerve to look at him.

_Well at least he isn't mad anymore. I'd say he is well beyond that and into furious._ Joss gave him her most winning smile. He arched a brow, arms folded tightly across his chest.

"And just when, my dear Josslyn, were you going to tell me about that?"

"Never, actually. It's one of those things I promised when I became a Warden. They made us swear to kill darkspawn, do our best to stop a blight and kill the Archdemon and never, ever tell anyone how Grey Wardens are created. I'm sure there are more secrets but Duncan very inconveniently died at Ostagar before he could share them."

"All the more reason why I should accompany you."

Joss was sure there was some sort of logic in his statement but she'd be damned if she could figure it out. "Pardon?"

Teagan seemed a bit confused by his statement as well, or maybe it was shock setting in. She could see him muddling through what she'd told him and she had the worst urge to reach up and smooth out his frown. She refrained. Barely.

Finally he took a deep breath and said, "If your job is to end the blight and kill the Archdemon, you need as many able-bodied men around you as possible to ensure you reach that goal."

Well he certainly had the able-bodied part right. Joss grinned, thinking of their morning together. "True enough. But I'll warn you, conditions on the road are pretty rough. No silk sheets, no colorful pavilions and most nights the food is scarcely palatable. Oh, and you have to stand watch, Styx will lick your skin raw if you aren't careful and Zev will try to bed you. If, after all that, you still want to follow through with your mad plan, I won't stop you."

"I pledge my sword to you, Lady Josslyn," he said solemnly and then spoiled it with a rather suggestive smile. "Both of them," he added.

* * *

"Lawrence, Maurice, Khurley, this is Bann Teagan."

Joss smiled at the three tranquil proprietors of The Wonders of Thedas. They all bowed stiffly. Their expressions ranged from blank to almost blank to a brief wooden smile.

"Welcome to The Wonders of Thedas, Enchanter Josslyn," they intoned in unison.

"Thank you. We'll just look around while you fill Senior Enchanter Wynne's order."

Joss placed her hand on Teagan's proffered arm and led him up a short flight of stairs to a display room. "They seem very calm," Teagan said quietly, a hint of a question in his voice.

"Yes, one could almost say they were tranquil," she agreed with a grin.

"Unnaturally so," he added, looking over his shoulder at the three men.

"They are Tranquils; mages who have been disconnected from the Fade."

Josslyn started counting, wondering how high she would get before he asked the obvious question. She made it to four.

"Why would they be disconnected from the Fade?"

Stopping in the middle of the room, she said, "Mages who have trouble controlling their magic, who are at greater risk of becoming abominations, are made tranquil."

Teagan's face paled. Oh Maker's tits, she was an idiot. He was concerned about his nephew. She really had the world's biggest mouth.

"Connor won't have to worry, Teagan. He has already proven that he has far more control of his magic than most mages," she explained hastily, hoping she sounded reassuring.

"Why can't all mages control their magic?"

Why indeed. Why did some resort to making deals with demons? Or allowing spirits to assist them when everyone understood the line between demon and spirit was a thin one at best. Why couldn't mages just get along and use their magic for truth, justice and the occasional romp in a linen closet? So much for a fun outing with the handsome bann at her side.

"Hmm, think of it this way. A non-mage's mind is like a small brook, bubbling peacefully along its course, never straying over its banks. A mage's mind is more like a creek just after a rainfall, racing along and constantly changing its course as it flows into boulders, a bit chaotic but still staying within its banks. Now imagine certain mages whose minds are a raging river after a great storm, crashing into those boulders, flowing over its banks, a chaotic swirling whirlpool. They are dangerous to themselves and everyone around them. The mind of someone who is tranquil is like a pond; deep and still. Free of the chaos, they can think more clearly, function without fear of destroying themselves or those around them."

Teagan stared at her in surprise. "I don't think I've ever heard you sound so serious," he commented.

"Well, it doesn't occur often but there are those rare occasions," she said solemnly just before she stuck her tongue out at him and crossed her eyes. He smiled as he shook his head.

"And these Tranquils, they're happy with being disconnected from the Fade?"

Now came the part everyone rose up in anger about. "When they are disconnected from the Fade, they no longer experience emotions. They aren't happy. They aren't sad. They are…" Joss began, waiting for the explosion of outrage.

"Tranquil," Teagan finished. Oh good, no raging rants about the inhumanity of it all.

"Yes," she agreed, relieved. "But that doesn't mean they aren't human, as some would have you believe. They are as human as you are, they just don't show the range of emotions you do." Or any emotions, but she didn't voice that thought.

"Dare I ask who decides which mages are to become tranquil? Or is that information super secret stuff as well?" he teased.

Joss rolled her eyes. "It isn't some evil cabal, if that's what you mean. Many times it is the mage that asks to be made tranquil. There are some who are made tranquil because the First Enchanter and the Knight Commander feel it is a better fate than a death by a sword of mercy. It isn't something that is undertaken lightly, at least not at Kinloch Hold. I'm not sure about other Circles."

"I confess, my knowledge of mages and their abilities is limited to Connor."

Joss laughed. "What am I? You've seen my abilities. Do they frighten you?"

"In a good way, my dear. In a good way."

After they collected the supplies Wynne had ordered they began the walk back to Teagan's when Joss stopped suddenly. They were passing the Gnawed Noble Tavern and she grinned mischievously at Teagan.

"I have a theory about the real reason I wasn't served at the Gnawed Noble. I think it was because I was obviously _not_ a noble. Would you be willing to test that theory?"

Teagan shook his head warily. "I'm not sure I like the sound of that."

"Oh come on, it'll be fun. Just remove your shirt and I'll remove my shoes and we'll see if we get served."

"What?"

"Unless you'd rather I removed my shirt and you removed your shoes?"

"Maker's breath, woman!"

Five minutes later Joss sat sipping a frothy mug of ale, her bare toes wriggling happily at their freedeom.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N:** _Getting from point A to point C is really tough if your ticket is routed via point B…so yes, another filler. Road trip next, muse willing and the creek don't rise. _

**Curiouser and Curiouser **

"So, we leave at first light."

Laughter greeted Josslyn's announcement. She huffed at that but couldn't fault her companions for their disbelief. She was not a morning person. At. All. "I have only one word for all of you enjoying a laugh at my expense: ribbitt."

The laugher swelled. Apparently they wanted to be frogs. She glowered at them. They laughed harder. She was going to have to make good on her threat one day. They obviously thought she was not capable of transmogrifying one of them into a slimy little toad. Not that she relished the prospect. She, personally, detested the little blighters, as she did most critters and creepy crawlies. For now she had other things she needed to do before they departed the city. And other things she _wanted_ to do as well, Joss thought, her eyes settling on a very relaxed Teagan.

"Zev, please meet me in the study in twenty minutes. I need to go speak with the Woman of Mystical Mounds, first."

Joss retrieved the large black tome that told the tawdry tale of Flemeth's longevity and made her way to Morrigan's room, wondering the entire time what she could possibly say to the prickly woman. _Hi, your mother's a whore?_ No, that probably wouldn't do. _I have some good news and some bad news. The good news is you have lots of sisters. The bad news is your body is a loaner. _She couldn't imagine that would go over well either. She came to Morrigan's room before she came up with an answer to her dilemma.

"Yes, what is it?" Morrigan asked in that cold, hard voice that made Joss want to reach out and pull the woman's hair.

"I have a comment, a question and a gift. Which would you like first?" Joss asked brightly.

Morrigan's glare shifted into a suspicious scoff. "Ah, you wish to give me a gift but receive something for it. A most curious idea of a gift but one I am not surprised by."

_Oh yes, this is going swimmingly_. "Bugger it all, Morrigan, I'm trying to be nice," Joss snapped. _Yes, much better_. _No doubt Morri will fall under my charming spell. Or not._

"'Twould seem you need practice for I do not want a gift with such strings attached to it."

_Well, that's a bitchy way to put it but she has a point. I wonder if she will faint when I agree with her? If she does I hope she falls backwards._ "You are absolutely correct, Morrigan. A gift without strings attached. Here, take this. It's your mother's grimoire and trust me when I say it's more grim than oire. If you want to talk later, I'll be downstairs."

Joss grinned as she made her way to the study. She imagined Morrigan was more confused than ever about people. Not that Josslyn was the best person to ask about why people behaved as they did, but the idea that Morrigan might actually want to ask her was entertaining.

Entering the study, she noted that Zev had not arrived yet and she took a moment to compose herself. No need to look like a gloating jackass when Zev finally did arrive. She glanced around the room, noting that someone had drawn the drapes, floor length and thankfully not charred and shredded. Maybe she could be housebroken after all.

"Ah, my lovely Warden, you wish to discuss something privately with me? I suspected that Teagan did not have the stamina one such as you would require."

"Yes, you are clearly the better man, Zevran. I don't know what I was thinking."

"I would suggest you _were_ thinking and that is the problem. One should not think, one should merely give in to one's desires, yes?"

As he spoke, Zev was working his way around the room, checking for Joss knew not what. She was amused to see he failed to look behind the floor-to-ceiling tapestry depicting the Battle of River Dane in his searching. She knew for a fact that there was a secret passageway hidden behind the massive tapestry. She debated telling him about it and then decided it would be more fun to wait until after he'd told her what he'd discovered.

Seating herself across from the tapestry, Joss nodded. "Sure because nothing bad ever happens when one acts before one thinks." In Josslyn's experience it was very often a case of bad things happening when she acted before she thought through things. On the other hand, if she'd really been thinking, she would never have agreed to becoming a Warden. Or sleeping with Teagan.

"Bad is a relative term, my dear. Only imagine what you have missed out on by taking time to reflect? How much time has been wasted while thinking when one could be doing."

"You are a man of great wisdom," she agreed dryly.

"And so much more, my lovely Warden. A point which I will be most happy to demonstrate."

Joss frowned. Had she just heard a low exclamation coming from the tapestry? Perhaps Loghain, sitting so imperiously on his charger, had taken a blow? Or perhaps the gentle tugging at her senses indicated either a darkspawn or a Warden was nearby? Probably the latter. And whoever had woven the tapestry had given Loghain a ridiculously long nose. She wasn't sure why she was bothered by that or even why she would notice it. She might possibly be having a nervous breakdown. Maybe. But now was not the time to worry about such a trivial thing as badly woven tapestries. Now was the time to have fun at someone else's expense.

Zev had risen and was moving towards the tapestry but Joss quickly put a hand on his arm, winking at him as she did so. "Why, Zev, you would really be willing to demonstrate your point? Might I expect such a demonstration soon?" Joss asked, her voice a husky purr. Zev smiled his cheekiest smile.

"Ah, you naughty minx, shall we not ask Teagan to join us?"

"Well, to be honest, I am inclined to ask Alistair to join us. What do you say, Alistair? Care to come sit at the grown-up's table?" Joss sang out.

She heard a choking sound and a splutter. "I – I can't join you and what about Teagan?" Alistair asked, his voice muffled by the tapestry he still hid behind.

"You'd feel more comfortable if Teagan joined in as well? Why Alistair, you naughty man," Joss replied in what she hoped was the right blend of disbelief and shock.

"No! I – just no! Maker's breath, I hate you," Alistair grunted, stepping out from behind the wall hanging. He smoothed his hair back into place, eyes cast down to study the pattern of the floor. The blush was perhaps the best and most colorful she had yet seen on him.

"Eavesdroppers never hear good things. I'm surprised you don't know that by now," Joss admonished, trying to look stern. She rather doubted the smile added credence to her attempt.

"I just wanted to - as the most senior Warden – be - you know, involved in what's going on - but not - you know - what's going on if it isn't Warden business and I…" he stuttered on bravely before grinding to a halt.

No amount of discipline could stop Josslyn's laughter from spilling out. Not that she was all that big on discipline to begin with. "Well, look at you all grown up and wanting to wear big boy pants," she teased, softening the remark with a hand on his arm.

"You are indeed the most senior Warden in Ferelden, unless we're talking actual age and then you are behind most of the others, with the exception of Jowan, perhaps."

Blush receding, Alistair smiled slightly, drawing himself up straighter and walking confidently to a chair near Josslyn's. She was impressed with his new found maturity and was about to say so when he spoke again.

"Just please don't talk about …you know…the other thing," he pleaded, spoiling the effect. Joss snorted on her laughter.

"So, Zevran, what did you discover at the Grey Warden compound within the Royal Palace?"

"Twelve very large and very well armed guards that will prevent us from entering, I regret to say. I did, however, manage to find a few items of interest on the regent's desk."

Joss opened her mouth to speak and then closed it. She opened it again. "You weren't able to get into the compound but you were able to enter Loghain's office?" she asked with a fairly impressive amount of incredulity in her voice.

"To be fair, my dear Warden, I did not have to go through twelve guards to get into the Loghain's office. Perhaps he was expecting someone to enter the compound, yes? He did not think we would plan a bold move such as entering his office, which is quite lucky, isn't it? His office was guarded only by two men. I would tell you how I managed to divert their attention but young Alistair has requested we not talk of such matters."

"Talking about not talking about them is the same thing," Alistair said with a glare for Zev that the elf ignored.

"Perhaps discovering what was found in his office is more important than whether we're talking about not talking about things you don't want to talk about?" Joss asked, trying her best to look serious.

"Right. What did you find?" Alistair asked with such a serious tone that Joss was not only impressed, but also faintly shocked.

"Two letters that bore the seal of a hooded ferryman."

Josslyn frowned. There was something vaguely familiar about the seal Zevran described but the two glasses of wine she'd had with her meal made the tantalizing bit of information she needed a bit difficult to find. She closed her eyes. Ferryman? Hooded. Who had such a seal? Tevinter. A book on the history of the first Archons in the library at Kinloch Hold. Maker's nuts! Darinius, first true Archon of the Tevinter Imperium had designed the seal.

"Well that isn't good. At. All."

Alistair frowned in confusion. "What does it mean?"

"The seal of the Imperial Archon is a hooded ferryman."

Alistair's mouth formed a perfect 'oh' as he stared at her. "As in the Tevinter Imperium?"

Joss nodded, unsure what other nation in Thedas had Imperial Archons but didn't bother commenting on the obvious. "What did the letters say?"

Here, Zev raised an eyebrow. "I have many talents, my dear, but one of them is not speaking Arcanum. I do not know what the letters said. What is curious is that Loghain would speak the language."

"I can't imagine that nationalistic old curmudgeon learning any other language at all," Joss replied. "And why would he have the letters out in plain view on his desk? Maybe they aren't all that important?"

Silence settled as their faces all took on varying degrees of surprise and consternation. It didn't make any sense for the Regent of Ferelden to be in communication with the Imperial Archon. It didn't make sense for Loghain to know the language of the Tevinter Imperium. In fact, it didn't make sense that Loghain was the regent at all. In all the history she had read on the man, he was acting completely out of character. Joss supposed everyone had their mental limits and he must have reached his. Or the old adage that absolute power corrupts absolutely was based in fact.

"Maybe they were intercepted and he just had them on his desk while he was waiting for someone to translate them," Alistair offered. A possibility. Hopefully a probability. Yes, she'd go with that for now. Anything else made her skin itch.

"Well," she began, not really sure what she was going to say, but feeling the need to say _something_, "I suppose –" she continued only to be interrupted by a loud knocking. Of course, because somewhere there was an instruction book on how to win friends and influence people and it obviously stated that interrupting people was the key to success.

"Maker's nuts! What is it?" she exclaimed. "And don't tell me that the Maker doesn't have nuts," she instructed Alistair who had opened his mouth to protest something. His mouth snapped shut with an audible click of teeth hitting teeth.

""Tis Morrigan," came the cool reply from the other side of the door. Oh yippee.

"Alright, neither of you are to speak about this information, and the lack thereof, to anyone. Understood?"

"Discretion is my watchword," Zev purred. Joss gave an inelegant snort. Except when it came to talking of his exploits, his talents and his conquests.

Alistair nodded and then frowned. "Do you suppose this has to do with Uldred and the problems at the tower?"

What a strangely uncomforting thought that was. And one to think about, even if she didn't really want to. Gah, she hated being the one in charge.

Another sharp rap. "Did you not say I would be welcome should I need to talk?" the witch asked coolly. Well yes, she had foolishly offered that.

"One minute," Joss answered as politely as she could.

Both men rose and Joss moved to stand in front of Alistair. "No more hiding, Alistair. If you want to sit in on these discussions, just say the word," she said in her most serious tone. As if anyone listened to her no matter what tone she used.

Alistair grinned sheepishly and nodded.

Joss wondered if she had time for a belt or two of brandy, for purely medicinal reasons of course, before her discussion with Morrigan. But Morrigan pushed around the two men and stalked into the office. _Oh yes, this is going to be a happy talk._ Not that she could blame Morrigan for being upset. Joss knew she'd be less than happy if she learned her mother conceived her so she could take possession of her at the peak of her youth.

"Well come in, Morrigan. Make yourself comfortable. I don't suppose you'd like a wee nip of brandy?" Joss asked hopefully.

"Such things are for the weak minded," Morrigan replied with arrogant disdain.

"That's me, weak of mind and body," Joss agreed, pouring herself a healthy drink.

"Sit down, Morrigan. Standing over me like an avenging spirit is annoying," she added, sinking into a chair near the fire place.

The fire was little more than a few embers. Joss set her goblet down and reached for several pieces of wood. Once settled on the bed of coals, she let a small ball of fire dance from her fingertips to the wood and it caught immediately. She wondered if they could bring some of the dried wood with them, it made starting fires much easier. She supposed nobody would voluntarily carry the wood so she discarded the thought.

"Now, what's on your mind, Morri?" she asked and took a childish delight in seeing Morrigan's jaw flex. She smiled at the witch and nodded encouragingly but Morrigan seemed strangely reluctant to speak. The witch sat down in the chair across from her and Joss turned hers slightly to face Morrigan. This was going to be a long night if she had to continually prod Morrigan to talk.

Joss reached for her goblet and took a deep drink, letting the liquid warm her mouth. She could almost taste the currant and plum in the brandy and continued to roll it gently around her mouth, waiting for Morrigan to speak.

"You need to kill Mother."

The brandy made a dark golden brown arc as it flew out of her mouth, splattering a shocked Morrigan in the face. Her look of indignant outrage made it impossible for Joss not to chuckle as she stared at the bandy droplets rolling like tears down Morrigan's cheeks to drip off her chin.

"Sorry," she uttered, reaching into the pocket of her robe and pulling out a handkerchief. She handed it to a Morrigan, who was so angry Joss was surprised the liquid hadn't already turned to steam wherever it touched her body. Joss could certainly feel the heat of the woman's ire.

Once the mess was cleaned up, Joss leaned back in her chair. "Please continue," she invited Morrigan who eyed her warily through narrowed yellow eyes. With great reluctance, Joss set her goblet on the small table beside her chair.

"This is not Mother's true grimoire. I am quite certain even you understand that. I must have her true grimoire for I will not wait around like an empty sack waiting to be filled."

Uh-huh. Kill Flemeth, who apparently was neither human nor abomination. She had no idea what the Witch of the Wilds was but she was not a normal witch. Not that witches were normal, but she less than most. "Riiiiight. I'll just waltz up to the old crone and poke her with the pointy end of a sword and no doubt she'll fall down dead."

"Tis hardly the time for such infantile humor, Josslyn."

A most curious turn of events. Morrigan had used her name. Of course, she was asking a rather huge favor so it seemed the very least she could do. Still, Joss was finding the evening's revelations a bit hard to take in. First an Arcanum-speaking Loghain and now a strangely polite Morrigan asking her to slay a powerful creature. What next? Dancing mabari in frilly skirts? Darkspawn throwing down their weapons and surrendering?

"What if I just drop by her place and ask to borrow the real thing for a bit? Maybe if I promise not to dog-ear the pages or spit brandy on them?"

"I knew 'twould be impossible to talk to you," Morrigan huffed.

"No, it's just a bit difficult to imagine killing Flemeth. I suspect the only thing more difficult would be if you asked me to kill a high dragon although I suppose I could use some practice killing ferocious, powerful entities. The Archdemon is no slouch from what I've seen in dreams."

Joss stared at Morrigan, feeling uneasy at the almost guilty look that found its way into Morrigan's haughty expression. "Don't tell me, let me guess. Your mother is a powerful shapeshifter and one of her forms is a dragon?" Joss asked heavily. "Why am I not surprised?"

""Tis true. 'Tis how she rescued you from the Tower of Ishal. Do you not remember?"

"I remember being attacked by a host of darkspawn and being knocked onto my arse just before I passed out. Funny how being conked over the head with a shield will do that to a person. Oh, and the arrows. I looked like a damned pincushion when I woke up in your hovel…er…hut I mean.

"That answers the question of how I was rescued. It does not, however, answer the question of _why_ I was rescued. Hard to believe your mother grabbed me by accident, but she was not very bright in grabbing the two rawest recruits if, as she claims, she saved us to stop the blight. It also doesn't tell me why Flemeth would send her next body out on a dangerous romp around Ferelden."

"I cannot tell you why she sent me with you. Perhaps once I have the grimoire I will find it an easier tale to tell."

Joss stared blankly at the dark haired woman, fairly certain her mouth was hanging open. Was there a rule in the _How to Defeat the Blight in Three Easy Steps_ handbook that she was unaware of which suggested that throwing as many obstacles and oddities at a Warden as possible was the correct method?

"Blackmail? Seriously? You want me to stop what I'm doing, namely ending the blight, and go kill a powerful dragon-witch-thingie and then you'll tell me why you've really been sent along on our grand adventure? You have some odd notions about favors," Joss snorted.

"Oh, 'twas foolish of me to think you might offer your assistance. I have an odd notion of favors but you have an odder notion of friendship," Morrigan scoffed.

Joss laughed outright at that, thankful she didn't have any brandy in her mouth. "Friendship? I'd hazard to say you don't even know how to spell that word. Friendship isn't about secrets and blackmail."

Morrigan stood, her arms folded tightly as she began pacing the room. "Are they not? And yet you approached me with a gift that you wanted to give me in exchange for information. I recall you saying you had a comment, a question and a gift."

Nobody likes having their words thrown back at them, Joss thought sourly and while she wanted to reach across the distance separating them and give Morrigan a good solid smack, she also admitted the witch had a point. Joss was not happy to admit that. At. All.

"Fine, fine. We'll hop right on down to that swamp property of yours and kill your mother the dragon-witch-thingie."

"I will not be able to accompany you. Should my mother realize I am there it would be far too easy for her to possess my body."

"It's always something, isn't it?" Joss asked, shaking her head. "You realize that the trip will take us days out of our way?"

"I know a trail through the Brecilian Forest that will help. Perhaps we will encounter the Dalish as we travel. I do appreciate this, Josslyn."

Joss shook her head again, sure she hadn't heard the witch correctly but there was a tiny bit of gratitude in the arrogant sneer on Morrigan's lips. She found herself speechless; a rare event that many would, no doubt, rejoice at.

She watched Morrigan walk away and then reached for the goblet of brandy. If she was lucky she could drink herself into a coma and wake up after the blight had ended. She was on her third brandy when Teagan came in search of her.

"You were right about Zevran. He wanted to discuss sleeping arrangements with me. He said you would agree to anything I suggested," he told her around a grin, coming to sit in Morrigan's recently vacated spot.

Joss blinked at him and nodded. "Sure, I'm easy, or so people seem to believe," she agreed, the merest hint of a slur in her words.

Teagan reached out and took the goblet from her. "You told me it was dangerous for mages to become inebriated. Perhaps some water would be a better idea?"

"I am not intoxificated. Inebriafied. Oh, Andraste's fat ass! I'm not drunk," she huffed indignantly.

Teagan chuckled softly. "Yes, I see that. Then while you're still sober shall we go up to bed?"

Joss thought that was a fine idea.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N**: _My continued thanks for all the wonderful reviews and support of Joss and her continuing (mis)adventures. I am very grateful._

**Dances with Werewolves**

Everyone was in a disgustingly cheerful mood the next morning, and inclined to speak entirely too loudly. Josslyn's mouth was dry, her eyes felt gritty and her head seemed to be made of cotton. She gathered her pack and stared at Teagan. No doubt with her mouth agape. He was not wearing his heavy armor but soft, supple leather and he looked good enough to attack, even when viewed through her gritty eyes. He had a highly polished bow and a leather quiver on his back and a lethal dagger riding his hip. If she hadn't promised herself they would leave by first light, she would happily drag him back upstairs and see just how lethal his dagger was.

"That's a nice look for you," she remarked, striving for nonchalance. She did not want to drool all over his formfitting leathers. "Are we going hunting today?"

Teagan grinned. "While you were…sleeping, Zevran and I had a discussion about the need for me to stay with the mages and protect them. I admit that I'm relieved not to be marching around in that heavy metal."

Well, that was a relief. She only wished she had thought of it. But after the brandy she really remembered very little. Or actually, nothing at all other than Teagan leading her off to bed. Maker, she hoped she hadn't made a complete ass of herself but as he was smiling roguishly at her, she thought she had probably done more than sleep. And she was far too old for the blush that made her cheeks burn.

They set off at first light and while Joss was tempted to crow and strut over such a feat she decided a smug smile would suffice. She made it all the way to the West Gate before she tripped over her own feet. Zev, never far from her side for reasons she couldn't begin to explain, grabbed her arm before she fell face first into the paving stones.

"Perhaps the brandy is still with you?" he asked with a wink.

"Certainly not. These paving stones must have been laid by a drunk."

Zev threw his head back, laughing. "Apparently the paving stones were not the only thing laid by a drunk, yes?" he asked suggestively.

"Is there any word, phrase or sentence that you can't turn into a lewd remark?" she asked, not for the first time and most assuredly not for the last.

"Ah, we shall play that game again, yes? Perhaps have Teagan join us?"

"No. Just no. You'll corrupt him or remind him that he has lost his mind to be in my company, neither of which I want."

Zev flung an arm around her shoulders, a bit of a reach and stretch for him but he did it with aplomb, Joss had to admit. "How could he fail to be charmed by a deadly sex goddess such as you, my lovely lady?"

"How indeed? And how do you know she is a deadly sex goddess?" Teagan asked as he moved to join the pair.

"We have been traveling together for some time now, Bann Teagan. How could I not know?" Zev asked with a sly smirk. Joss elbowed him. His smirk grew. Teagan's eyes narrowed.

"Is this the part where you both puff out your chests and compare notes about manly things? If so, let me know and I'll go join Sister Featherbrain," Joss interjected with only a little bit of eye-rolling.

Teagan looked about to protest but before he could say anything, Zev was once again speaking. "Ah, I begin to suspect you have a thing for Leliana. It is why you find all these wonderful pet names for her, yes?"

"I hate to repeat myself but no. Just no," Joss replied and moved ahead of the two men to walk with Jowan and Cathair who were discussing the various cloud formations that were floating past them on the wings of the wind. They didn't even notice her and she began to suspect that they might be interested in each other.

Poor Jowan. Cathair was a wonderful woman soldier. In fact, she was actually a wonderful soldier who happened to be a woman and very often forgot that last part. Maybe all Jowan had ever needed was a strong woman in his life. Lily had been as washed out as a five year old breast band; bland, pale and lifeless. Joss had never understood that fairytale romance. At. All.

By the time they made camp, Josslyn's feet were screaming. She left the others to set up camp and took her tired feet to the creek nearby. Teagan found her a few minutes later and sat down beside her as she let the cold water rush over her aching toes.

"Bodahn and his son Sandal are very interesting and quite handy to have around. How did you find him?"

"We saved their lives just outside of Lothering. A group of darkspawn was attacking them so we did the neighborly thing and killed them. They've followed us ever since then. They usually carry our supplies and gear in their wagon so all we have to worry about it a small pack and our weapons. They disappear during the day but always manage to find our camp at night. Quite odd now that I think about it. Where do they go? What do they do? How do they know where to find us? Still, I've discovered the fewer questions one asks about them, the better."

"His son doesn't seem entirely…" Teagan, ever polite, trailed off and Joss gave him a tired smile.

"Bodahn thinks Sandal was lyrium addled and left to die. I say there is much more to the lad than meets the eye but I'm not sure what exactly that would be. He's very good with enchantments, better than any tranquil I've ever known."

They sat in silence while Joss cooled her tired feet in the creek.

"Horses would make this whole adventure much better," Teagan finally said around a yawn. "Why don't we have horses?"

"The short answer is we don't have the money or riding skill. And some of us are just a bit terrified of big, four-legged beasts."

Teagan chuckled. "It's difficult to imagine you being afraid of anything, although I do recall from your trip through the dungeons in Redcliffe that you aren't fond of spiders."

"There are more things in this world that I'm afraid of than not. It comes from spending most of my life in the tower. And really, afraid isn't the appropriate word for how I feel about horses. Terrified would be apt. Or petrified. Either one."

"There's more to the story that you aren't telling me," Teagan chided. "You are very good at deflecting with humor and sarcasm."

Joss sighed at that. She hated that he was beginning to understand her. She had barriers for a reason and it was most ungentlemanly of him to bash right through them that way. "A very uninteresting and unflattering story, Teagan."

"I won't press you now, but I want to know more about you, Josslyn. That is not as bad a thing as you seem to think."

Why had she allowed him to come along? She wasn't sure until he leaned over and feathered a kiss along her neck. Ah, that was the reason. Well and he was reasonably good company even when he wasn't kissing her. In fact, she preferred his company to anyone else's and that was a worry.

"Perhaps I should have Zevran teach me his Antivan interrogation techniques? It seemed to have worked on Loghain's guards," he whispered before getting up and leaving her and her soaking feet.

Their first night together in the tent was a challenge. Teagan was not used to how confining it was and he was appalled by the lack of privacy. First Jowan stuck his head in to ask if she had any extra elfroot. Next came Leliana wondering if Styx could sleep in her tent since Joss had someone else to keep her warm. To be fair, it wasn't as if there was a door to knock on, only a bit of waxed canvas. Joss explained that to a wary Teagan who seemed to be waiting for the next visitor.

Morrigan, who had gone off after dinner in wolf form to do Maker knew what with the local wildlife, demanded that Styx come and collect the partially eaten rabbit he had left as a gift for her. Her voice was dripping with disgust and disdain in equal measure.

"The woman is a wolf, bear and spider by turns and she can't stomach a half-eaten hare?" Joss groused.

Teagan chuckled and pulled her close for a kiss, which she was more than happy to return. And that's when the good-nights started.

"Good night, Wynne!" Leliana sang out.

"Good night, dear."

"Good night, Jowan!" Cathair barked gruffly.

"Good night, Cathair. Good night, Randal," came the drowsy reply.

"Good night, Alistair!" Wynne called out in her most matronly way.

"Good night, Wynne!" Alistair replied warmly.

"Good night, my lovely Warden. I shall miss you tonight," Zevran purred from just outside her tent.

"Andraste's bowlegged aunt! Good night everyone and go to sleep! Except Styx and Zev!" Joss yelled.

A moment of silence followed, the sound of the fire crackling and crickets chirping the only noise at all. Joss, nestled snugly against Teagan with her head on his chest, was dozing off when the silence was broken by a distant, "Enchantment!"

Joss buried her face in Teagan's neck, her shoulders shaking with laughter.

"Welcome to life on the road," she whispered into his neck when she regained her ability to speak.

"It's an adventure," he whispered back before giving her a kiss and closing his eyes. He was asleep before she blinked and she fell asleep only a minute later.

By the end of the third day, Teagan seemed to have found a rhythm as well as a place among the others. In those three days they had battled bandits, mercenaries and a pack of blight wolves. They had also encountered a lost caravan and helped them. He was a gracious and good man and Joss couldn't help but wonder why he was with her, of all people.

Each evening he would talk with every member of the group with the exception of Morrigan because her frosty manner was a big deterrent to even the friendliest overture. He spent extra time with Alistair, who seemed to blossom under his attention. Teagan would walk the perimeter of the camp each night as Joss set wards out, watching her weave her magic with a fascination that embarrassed her. And in fact caused her to cast a warding glyph instead of a glyph of repulsion one night.

She had to admit he was much more fun to cuddle up to for warmth than Styx. The mabari, however, was not happy sleeping in Leliana's tent and watched Joss with accusing brown eyes each night as she entered her tent with Teagan. There really wasn't room for both mabari and man and she wasn't about to send Teagan off to sleep with Sister Ribbons and Bows. Besides Teagan smelled delicious and Styx smelled like the wardog he was.

They found the Dalish early on the fourth day. The clan was not friendly. At. All. Joss attributed it to the ornate tattoos most of them wore on their faces; they looked beautiful but painful. She knew she'd be cross if she'd had her face inscribed with intricate designs made with needles and blood.

Their leader, Keeper Zathrian, made Morrigan seem downright warm and cuddly. He was patronizing and pedantic, droning on and on about their clan's troubles. Which figured, really. Why would gathering the army be easy?

"As you see, we are in no position to honor our treaty."

"Wow, what are the odds?" Alistair quipped in a droll, sarcastic tone. Joss shot him a quick glance of surprised approval.

As the bald elf continued the sad tale of his people, Joss tuned him out, staring around the camp at all the unfriendly pairs of eyes on them and she couldn't help wondering if they would become the clan's next meal. Would they be put in large pots and cooked slowly with lots of herbs and seasonings or skewered and placed on a spit, slow roasted? And then she heard something that caught her attention.

"I'm sorry, you want us to wear wolves? You mean wolf skins?" she asked, wondering if it was some odd mating ritual and deciding she didn't really want to know.

"Werewolves," Alistair hissed in a loud aside.

"I don't know where the wolves are," she hissed back.

Teagan snickered. "No, Josslyn. He is referring to werewolves as in _Dane and the_," he explained patiently.

"You mean real werewolves? The crazy killer kind?"

Apparently so. As the Keeper continued on, she discovered that a curse had caused men to become werewolves who then attacked the Dalish and left many of them wounded or rabid. That wasn't good. At. All. The Keeper seemed to think she and her companions could find a wolf and kill it, take its heart and return it to him so he could break the curse. Sure. Easy as one, two, three. Or not.

"So this Witherfang is a white wolf that is inhabited by a powerful spirit who uses magic to protect the lair of the werewolves?" she asked, summing up the situation with a deep sigh. "I suppose there aren't any other clans around we could call on instead?"

"The other clans have already moved north, ahead of the horde."

"Of course they have. It's where I'd go, given the opportunity," Joss replied wistfully. "Fine, we'll do this but I expect you to honor the treaty once I'm done."

Before they could leave the camp and enter the forest, said to be full of spirits and the dearly departed, a whey-faced young man started bemoaning his ill luck. Alistair, always a sucker for a sob story, stopped to listen intently. Joss finally broke in, her voice not exactly calm. Or kind. It was, in fact, a bit shrill.

"Wait just a damned minute. The land is being ravaged by darkspawn, who will be here any minute now to kill you all, and half your clan is either dying a horrible, painful death or turning into furry monsters and you're _whining_ about girl problems?"

"People skills!" Leliana sang out.

Joss ignored her, cranking up for a good old fashioned rant. "Is there no-one in all of Ferelden who has the brains and balls to solve their own problems? Sure, I'll honor this treaty but first you need to help me move that mountain range east a hundred miles. My answer, of course, is always yes because I have all the time in the world to travel the length and breadth of Ferelden. I'm sure the Archdemon will wait for as long as it takes for us to solve everyone's problems."

She glared at the cowering young elf before her and was tempted to reach out and grab him by his leather jerkin and shake him a few times. What was wrong with people? She looked over at Alistair and Teagan who were both staring at her with matching looks of disappointment. To her disgust and dismay, she felt the prickly stinging behind her eyes that meant tears were not far behind so she stomped down the winding trail that led into the Haunted Forest of Doom. She'd be damned if she would apologize or cry.

"I understand your frustration, Josslyn, but you can't take it out on everyone you meet," Teagan said after an hour of wandering along the trails like babes in the woods.

Nobody would admit they were lost but since they didn't exactly know where they were going they weren't exactly sure they were lost either. Joss was fairly certain she'd seen the same broken down bridge twice before.

"You understand my frustration?" Joss asked, feeling her ire on the rise once again. "I have been fighting people at every turn because there is a blight sweeping up from the south, complete with death and destruction and an Archdemon that I am supposed to protect them from but people are so concerned with their own little world that they don't offer to help. Instead they ask for favors."

Teagan stopped walking and Joss was forced to either stop as well or walk off in another childish huff. She stopped and turned to face him, feeling about as low as it was possible to feel. "Is that how you see me? One more grasping person slowing you down on your quest to save Ferelden?" he asked tightly. He was furious. And hurt.

Oh joy. A fight. And all her fault. She took a deep, calming breath, determined not to be angry. Or sarcastic. Or caustic. She went with all three for the win. "Don't be childish, Teagan, we don't have the time to sooth wounded egos."

She clamped a hand over her mouth but the words were already out there for him to pick up and hurl back at her. What was wrong with her? He was stunned by her words and she couldn't fault him. She was a bitch who put Morrigan to shame.

"I'm sorry, Teagan. I didn't mean it like that and I don't mean you."

"And yet they're your own words," Teagan replied coldly and stepped around her to continue on his way.

The others were in foul moods as well. Alistair was grumbling angrily about the evil bitch whose name was Morrigan. Jowan was hissing at Leliana's prattle. Zevran was cold and aloof, walking away from the others. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. Or maybe they were just royally pissed off at her and she couldn't blame them.

Before she could figure out how to apologize to them all, they encountered their first group of werewolves. They were nasty, filthy and very grouchy. They snarled and howled and tried to tear the flesh off Alistair's bones. He fell to the ground and Randal immediately took his place. Arrows were winging over head and the air was thick with the magic of four mages. Finally the group killed the last one and Joss called a halt while Wynne tended to Alistair and Jowan attempted to help the less seriously wounded.

She stared at them and felt even lower than she had earlier, which made her about as low as a snake's underbelly. Which was a horrible picture and an even worse feeling. Shuddering, she stood and cleared her throat.

"You've all been great and I'm sorry I made you all feel like last week's left-over porridge. I don't honestly know what's wrong with me," she finally managed around the large and immoveable lump in her throat. "Except for a puckish sense of humor and a terrible lack of social skills, I thought I was almost housebroken."

There was a low murmur among the assembled group as they stared at her. She was fairly certain she didn't have that third eye she'd always wanted but nobody was speaking. She gave a mighty sniff and turned to stomp off in a different direction with the hope of finding the damned werewolf lair.

"Josslyn," Teagan called after her. She stopped and waited for him to catch up.

"If you say one nice thing right now I'll cry and quite possibly never forgive you," she mumbled as he neared her.

"I'll risk it," he replied and that little gleam of mischief was back in his seascape eyes.

And of course, because she hadn't quite finished humiliating herself, she burst into tears. He put his arms around her and let her cry long enough for her to reach the hiccupping stage before he offered her a semi-clean handkerchief.

"Quit trying to do so much. Allow Alistair and the other wardens to take on more duties. You don't have to do everything," he scolded gently.

Her crying started up again. "I just…it's because…I don't mean…" she tried to say through her tears before she began to wail like a child. He just kept holding her and letting her cry, the bastard. She was soaking his leathers and making a complete ass of herself.

"I didn't mean that you were one of those grasping people," she finally managed, her voice sounding like it was wrapped in wet wool.

"I know, Josslyn. You're exhausted. Do you really think I don't feel you get up several times a night to check on the wards and the people on watch? Let others do it, Joss. Delegate."

"I'll try but…" she began but he shook his head.

"No buts, Joss. Do it."

She nodded and gave him a watery smile. My, wasn't she in all her glory, standing in the middle of a haunted forest full of werewolves with red and swollen eyes and an equally red nose? Who wouldn't want to kiss that? Teagan apparently didn't mind. He kissed her brow and then her lips.

"Shall we go find this Witherfang and be done with it?" he asked with an encouraging smile. She could almost hate him for being so charming. Almost.

Having humiliated herself in front of everyone, Joss finally decided to ignore the concerned and curios stares of her companions and soldier on. They fell into step and the bitching abated as they hiked hither and yon in search of the mysterious white wolf.

Turning into a small glade, where a white oak stood towering above the other trees, she heard a voice, speaking in rhyme. It was coming from the tree. _Well, that's not good. A spirit? Most likely. Friendly? One can hope. _

"What manner of beast be thee, that comes before this elder tree?"

"Oh, a poet tree, how lovely," Leliana chirped brightly as if it was a pretty flower of some kind.

The tree, it seemed, needed a favor. Well no surprise there. But in return it would give them the means to enter the lair of the werewolves. It continued to speak in rhyme so Joss decided she'd have a go as well. She cleared her throat and started:

"There once was a mage from the tower,  
"Whose fingertips glowed with power.  
"She loved to give a shock  
"To her lover's mi-"

"People skills!" the group cried out in unison.

She looked over her shoulder at her companions. Zev was snickering, Alistair was blushing, Leliana was praying and Wynne had her arms folded across her chest, shooting her a blistering glare. Teagan gave her a wink.

"This isn't a people. Er, person. But have it your way," Joss retorted with a smile. Things were back to normal. The tension in her shoulders disappeared. The air was cleared.

"If a man took your seed,  
"I understand your need  
"I'll go out and look  
"For the scurrilous crook."

Turning to the group she gave a cocky grin. "Satisfied?"

The sighs of relief were strong enough to ruffle her hair in the breeze the sighs created.

By the time they found the ruins that hid the lair, it was late afternoon. They had no sooner stepped into a walled garden then they were surrounded by snarling, jaw-snapping werewolves who apparently thought her group looked like supper. Did werewolves eat meat? She felt sure they must. Would that make them cannibals? She probably didn't really want to know.

"Turn back, human. Run to Zathrian and tell him he will break this curse or he will die."

Joss stepped forward to speak to the large, well huge really, werewolf with the golden yellow skin and matching eyes. "Not a chance." She stepped forward again. He stepped back.

"We'll protect Witherfang."

Joss took another step forward and this time the beast did the same. She stepped left, as his breath was hot and fetid and she thought if she smelled it much longer she would toss her lunch all over someone's boots. He stepped back.

"Maker's balls. Stand still. This isn't a damned cotillion!" Joss hissed at him. He blinked at her and stood still.

Swiftrunner and his charming werewolf pals agreed to take Joss and the others to speak to the Lady of the Forest. Joss was not looking forward to trying to deal with a spirit. However she had little choice and even less desire to try and fight her way out. If they could parlay, all the better.

As they made their way deep into the lair, Swiftrunner leading the way, Joss whispered to Teagan, "Do you get the feeling Zathrian lied to us?"

Teagan give a very un-Teagan like snort. "Without a doubt."

In fact, they _had_ been lied to. Zathrian cursed a group of humans for killing his son and raping his daughter who committed suicide when she learned she was pregnant. Joss could understand that kind of grief but that he was still alive centuries later, that he had used blood magic to do all sorts of horrible things, including extending his unnatural life was unforgivable. Joss found she couldn't forgive him for the misery he had caused generations of werewolves and now his own clan as well.

"Bring him here, human and we will try to settle this once and for all."

Sure, nothing difficult about that request. Alistair gave her an encouraging smile. "Fine, you stay here and I'll go get him."

Swiftrunner moved to stand in front of her. She stepped to the left. He did as well. "I am not going to play dance around the mulberry bush with you again, Swiftrunner."

"I will be watching you. Don't betray our Lady."

Alistair, much to her surprise, came to stand beside her. "And don't betray ours," he warned.

Joss felt all warm and gooey at that and gave him a big smile before she strode from the large hall and up a flight of stairs. And another flight of stairs. At the top of the fourth flight, she paused to catch her breath before stepping through a door into the antechamber they had passed through when they first arrived.

"Do you have the heart?" Zathrian asked without so much as a blink of surprise at seeing her.

"No and apparently you don't have a heart either."

"Ah, she told you, did she?"

"You don't think several hundred years of revenge is enough?"

"You don't know what they did to my son, my daughter. You can't possibly know what I have suffered."

"You're right, you pontificating, patronizing prat. I don't have any idea. I do see your own people suffering. I see that innocent people are now werewolves when they didn't do anything to you or your family. You think you're honoring your son and daughter by this? You pathetic ponce."

Zathrian was so pale that Joss wondered for a minute if he was about to keel over and die. "I can't just remove the curse. It isn't that simple."

"Can't? Or won't? I'm a mage, you think I don't understand that the minute you remove the curse you'll die? So what. If you don't remove it most of your clan will die and I will not kill someone who had nothing to do with the original crime."

They glared at each other and Zathrian finally sneered at her. "Very well, human, take me to this virtuous Lady."

Joss wasn't sure how virtuous a nearly nude wolf-tree-spirit kind of thing really was but she grabbed his arm and hauled Zathrian down the stairs before he could change his mind.

Of course he wouldn't give in gracefully. He had to fight and he woke up half the dead and a number of trees to help him fight. The bastard. Joss was hit in the chest by one of his spells; ice with a good measure of insects swarming within the ice, all of whom seemed intent on biting and stinging her. She spent the rest of the fight writhing on the floor in a most undignified manner before she finally passed out.

Teagan was bending over her when she opened her eyes. Zathrian was dead and the spirit was gone. She blinked. The werewolves were also gone but a group of humans stood in their place. "All's well that ends well," she mumbled, groggy from Wynne's sleep spell.

"Don't move," Teagan instructed as she struggled to sit up. Maker, she hurt all over. And were those hives from the insect bites? She closed her eyes again.

"Remind me the next time a werewolf wants to dance with me to just say no."


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N**: _There is a bit of smut early on so beware._  
_My continued thanks to all of you reading and reviewing. I truly appreciate it. _

**Mommie Dearest**

"There is a new rule in effect beginning immediately. If our tent flap is down you will not come near the tent. You will not call out to get our attention. You will not untie the flap and enter. You will not lean against the tent. I don't care if the Archdemon himself is dancing nude in front of the fire or it is raining gold sovereigns."

"What if –" Alistair began.

"No," Teagan interrupted.

"But I didn't even ask –"

"No," Joss reiterated. "If you are going to behave like children, consider this fair warning that I will behave like a mother. You won't like that because I have absolutely no point of reference except for fairytales of mean stepmothers and evil witch mothers. No offense, Morrigan."

Morrigan huffed a bit but merely shook her head and rolled her eyes, as if to say she was becoming accustomed to Josslyn's eccentricities. Josslyn wasn't sure she liked that but as Morrigan wasn't actually bitching or complaining, she let it go.

They were all sitting around the campfire after a rather parsimonious meal of rabbit and parsnips, both of which were swimming in the ubiquitous grey gravy that seemed a staple in Ferelden diets. Josslyn's meal had settled like a ship's anchor in the pit of her stomach and she was sorry now she'd bothered. She knew better than to eat when it was Alistair's turn to cook.

"Now, Alistair, I want you to prepare the watch roster. Randal and Cathair, I want you to take Jowan away from the camp, preferably in the opposite direction of the pond, and practice your smiting. Sorry, Jowan but you're the logical choice."

"What? Why?" Jowan gulped. The sissy.

Joss smiled, reaching up to scratch at one of the welts still dotting her face from her earlier run in with Zathrian's insects. She was wearing a foul smelling concoction, made of lemon grass and witch hazel and the grey gravy everyone was so fond of. It had soothed most of the angry splotches but not all.

Teagan pulled her hand away from her face with a small shake of his head. Sure, easy for him, he had no insect bites or hives from said insect bites. She held her tongue, which had to be some kind of record. She wondered how long before she exploded again. It wasn't natural, this new calm she'd found after her outburst earlier. Not natural and totally frightening.

"Joss? Why me?" Jowan prodded. And there went her record. Although, to her credit, she didn't yell.

"Why? Well, let's see now. It could be the fact that Wynne, Morrigan and I all use mana for our spells while you, on the other hand, having consorted with demons, use blood to fuel yours. If for some reason we are attacked during the training, we wouldn't be able to cast even a puff of cold air, let alone a blizzard. You, however, should your mana be drained, need merely cut yourself and bleed yourself dry casting spells.

"Or, you know, it could just be because I don't like you," she finished with a grin. A grin that stretched the drying goop on her face and cracked it like dried mud under a summer sun. It actually hurt, in a completely good way.

"Oh. Yeah, that makes sense," Jowan agreed unhappily.

"Cheer up, Jowan, it means I'm giving you a small dagger as a sign of good faith."

"Pardon me while I jump with joy," he replied. Ooh, sarcasm. From Jowan. Josslyn's grin grew. More goop cracked. It was a win-win for Josslyn.

All eyes turned to Jowan and there was a moment of silence. They were all watching and waiting for him to do just that, apparently. Joss knew she was. His cheeks wearing a splash of red, he stood up and then jumped up in the air, arms raised over his head in victory. Or she assumed it was meant to convey victory.

"Satisfied?"

"My dear blood mage, I am not nearly satisfied. Perhaps we can discuss this matter privately a bit later?" Zev asked with a lazy grin. The splash of red in Jowan's cheeks drained.

"Maker's breath," Jowan huffed before stomping off with Randal and Cathair.

"Should I not learn how to smite you?" Teagan asked in a whisper.

Joss hadn't really thought about it. With the three smiters they already had in the group, it seemed a bit like overkill. "You want to smite me? In public?" she teased.

"Wasn't it you, dear lady, who told me how uncontrollable magic can become when a mage becomes overly excited or upset?"

"Well, yes, but I hardly see what that has to do with the number of smiters we have."

"And if it occurs when we are alone?"

"Oh. Oh I get your meaning. Yes, I suppose you should learn, although I had plans for the pond and you and a serious lack of others around us." Not to mention a serious lack of clothing, Joss reflected wryly as Teagan stood. He offered his hand to her and she accepted it, muscles whimpering as she stood.

"As to that, my lovely Warden, I shall offer my services in Teagan's stead," Zev spoke up.

"Oh, wonderful! Thank you, my handsome assassin. Grab all the dinner dishes and follow me," Joss said, grinning as she went in search of a towel and her soap to the accompaniment of Teagan's laughter.

* * *

She woke when the moon began to shine brightly into the tent. Teagan, curled around her, a hand resting on her bare midriff, was still sleeping soundly. She could make out his face in the bright silver moonlight. He really was gorgeous, even with a rather hawkish nose. Not just gorgeous, she decided, a warm current of lust percolating through her veins.

Josslyn dropped a kiss on the corner of his mouth and then another along his jaw. His eyes fluttered open, his voice drowsy and little more than a mumble. "Can't sleep?"

"I can but there's a full moon out and I have other things on my mind," she whispered in reply. He nodded and closed his eyes again. Poor man still hadn't adjusted to life on the road and needed his sleep. A shame, really, that he wasn't going to get it.

"What things?" he finally asked, his voice coming from some dark and sleepy place.

"Well, on nights with a full moon, I have to practice the ancient arts of mage-craft."

"Mmm, such as?" he asked, voice muzzy as he rolled onto his back.

"I have to find and sacrifice a goat in a field of alfalfa and then strip and dance naked in the moonlight, chanting the anti-canticles."

Teagan's eyes flew open. He struggled to sit up but Josslyn had straddled him by then. It was proving difficult not to laugh outright at the look of horrified fascination that Teagan wore.

She smiled down at him. "Or we can just make love and I can skip the whole sacrificial goat and naked dance bit."

A low rumble of laughter rippled through him and she wriggled a bit as it tickled at her more sensitive parts. "Just the goat part," he agreed, rolling them over so that Joss was looking up at his hooded blue eyes. "I think I'd like to see the other part," he added before bending down and capturing her lips. She was more than happy to have them caught.

"Well, I'm not sure how effective that would be without the goat part, but I suppose I can arrange that. Shall we go now?" Joss offered, attempting to roll to her side and rise; a task made impossible by his lips tracing along her jaw line. She gave up when she felt the flick of his tongue along the outer shell of her ear.

"Later," he growled, nipping at her lobe. Later sounded like a much better idea.

Her hands, still learning all of Teagan's sensitive spots, began to explore across the breadth of his shoulders and then swept in ever growing circles down his back before dancing around to glide along his thighs. He shivered as her fingers stroked across his arousal and then inched up his chest to tease his nipples. He bit into the soft skin of her neck and his hips bucked reflexively against her.

He was definitely wide awake now. Sliding down her body, kissing and nipping, scraping his teeth against her pebbled nipples, he finally found his target and tormented her in the most delicious manner, his tongue flicking and teasing at her bud. Her fingers scraped against his scalp and wound through his hair as she bit her lips, trying to stifle the moans that wanted to escape.

Her muscles quivered and tightened and she pulled rather urgently at him. "I need you inside me," she mumbled breathlessly, arching into him as he moved back up her. He paused, bracing himself on his arms as he looked down at her, his eyes heavy lidded. His lips were glistening with her dampness and she reached up a trembling hand, tracing the shape of his lips before bringing the finger back and letting her tongue curl around it.

Desire flared like a bright candle and with a low moan, Teagan hovered above her entrance, tantalizingly close. He eased just the tip into her and stopped, continuing to hold back. The tease. She smiled up at him, wiggling her hips.

"Please ser, may I have more?" she asked, reaching down and stroking him. He let out a low groan.

And more is what she received as he thrust into her before easing slowly out and thrusting again. She clamped the muscles of her walls around his erection and tightened her legs around his waist, her fingers stroking his back. Her climax was not racing towards her, it was hurtling with the speed of a falling star and she was finding it nearly impossible to stifle the whimpers and cries that were trying to find the same release she was.

"Oh Maker," she hissed as the first spasm shuddered through her. That was followed by several other, less coherent sounds. She was still quivering and arching into him with an embarrassing lack of restraint when she felt his release shuddering through him. He buried his head in the pillow beside her and shouted into it before collapsing on her.

"I like the way you dance, milady," he said when he finally regained his breath. "I was surprised, however, by the number of 'oh Makers' involved in your anti-canticles."

It was not her moans and soft cries that awoke the camp, but the laughter that gusted out of her with the force of a gale wind.

* * *

"I'll only be taking ranged fighters, Zev and Styx along to visit Flemeth. If she is, indeed, the size of a high dragon, I don't want any plate wearing warriors up close. Teagan, I'd like you to stay back as well."

"Oh no, Joss, I'm going with you," Alistair declared stubbornly.

Josslyn, busy preparing health potions and poultices, glanced over her shoulder. He was dressed in his heavy plate, a shield already strapped to his back. He really was growing into his role as Second and she held back her desire to pat him on the head by gripping her poultices instead.

"I appreciate that you want to come along and protect me, Alistair, truly," she began kindly. "But you do not want to be caught wearing plate when her very fiery breath hits you mid chest. You will bake like a pie in that plate. Or worse, fry like a lamb chop."

Alistair's face blanched. "Oh, right. Good point. I wouldn't mind some pie but not if I'm it."

"And your reason for not allowing me along?" Teagan asked quietly but with a fair amount of steel in his voice, which meant he was not only hurt but also a bit miffed. She was getting quite good at upsetting him. Joss turned her smile in his direction.

"This isn't your fight, Teagan. This is about a creature that is not likely to win any awards for being a good mother."

She could almost feel the struggle going on in Teagan and she took pity on him, pushing herself up and moving to his side. "Walk with me?" she asked.

Maker, she was getting mellow in her old age. She blamed the Blight. They walked into the nearby woods a short distance and stopped. Taking a deep breath, because she suddenly felt like the meanest woman in Thedas, and because the thought that she might not come back made her eyes water, she stared up at him and decided to be honest. Gah, mellow and honest. She might as well just slink back to the tower a broken woman while she had any dignity left at all.

"Teagan, if something happens and we don't make it back, someone will need to help Alistair gather the other armies and stop the Blight. That's you, in case you weren't sure."

She had not seen him look so grim and serious since the first day they'd met in the Redcliffe Chantry a million years ago, or so it felt. He swept her into his arms and kissed her. She thought that was a particularly persuasive argument but she refused to be swayed, stubbornness being one of her many sterling qualities.

"You are determined to save everyone else in the whole of Thedas except yourself."

"I am not. Just those I love." Oh Maker's hairy balls, she hadn't really said that out loud, had she? Idiot. Blithering, blathering idiot! "To torment," she added quickly.

Oh yes, nice recovery, Josslyn Winifred Amell. She tried very hard not to bury her face in his chest to avoid the look in his eyes. Instead she stared at the ground, which was fascinating. Perhaps if she stared at it long enough and hard enough it would open up and consume her whole. Or spit her out, which was more likely to be the case. Not surprisingly, there was a rather lengthy pause in the conversation.

"You just can't do it, can you?" Teagan asked. Well there was more amused tenderness than embarrassed anger in his voice than she'd expected. That could only be a good sign. She hoped. The ground was still utterly fascinating.

"Can't do what?"

"Admit that you have feelings for people. Allow people through that barrier of yours so they can see the real you."

"Don't be silly. Of course I can," Joss lied, unable to meet Teagan's gaze. Alright, she had mellowed a bit but was still not all that honest. It was a start.

"Joss, there is no failing in admitting you care about people. It doesn't make you weaker, it makes you stronger."

What a load of hooey. Caring about people just ensured those people would either be taken away or they'd walk away. Neither of those was appealing to Josslyn as she stood staring at the ground, waiting for the stubby grass beneath her feet to grow.

"Who hurt you so badly that you still won't face it?"

In the middle of a Blight he wanted to talk about her sordid past? Really? She shook her head. "That's a bit dramatic," she finally said.

"Not if it's true."

"This isn't the time or place to talk about my boring little life."

"Then tell me when it will be an appropriate time and I'll be there to listen."

Not ever. As in never. The thought of spilling her secrets all over Teagan was as appealing as taking a bath with a herd of drunken cows. And as likely. "Maybe after this Flemeth business is over."

"Ah. 'Maybe' is a polite way of telling me to sod off," Teagan said mildly. "And I will sod off for now but don't think I won't revisit this, my dear."

Of course he would. But the relief in her was intense enough she was able to shove that thought aside. She finally stopped examining the stubby grass stalks. There were twenty seven in the clump nearest her left foot. "Thank you, Teagan."

"Now, go slay your dragon and come back safely."

* * *

The closer they got to Flemeth's shack in the Wilds, the more nervous Joss became. What in the world had she been thinking when she agreed to help Morrigan? Whatever Flemeth was, she was powerful and manipulative and Joss was an idiot. Most likely a dead idiot. And the mist was starting to rise around their feet like fingers grasping at them. _Ugh, bad thought. Cut it out Joss, before you scare yourself silly_.

"My dear, you are much too pensive. Tell Uncle Zevran what causes your mouth to turn down."

"Oh, I didn't know you were related," Sister One Spark Short of a Fire cooed.

"I don't think he meant it, dear," Wynne said in the condescendingly kind voice that made Joss want to tear the woman's hair out.

"What's to smile about? We're on our way to kill the Witch of the Wilds," Jowan muttered darkly.

"I doubt we'll be able to kill her, actually. Morrigan doesn't believe it's possible. She said killing her will really only slow her down."

"Wow, Joss, thanks for that. I feel much better," Jowan retorted. "Oh wait. No I don't."

"What? You want me to lie? If Flemeth will explain to me why she saved the two most junior Grey Warden recruits instead of a pair of seasoned veterans and if she'll tell me why she sent Morrigan with us instead of keeping her close enough to groom her for possession, I'll happily walk away without touching the barmy old biddy."

"Old she may be, lovely Josslyn, but barmy she is not. Crazy like a fox, perhaps."

"True enough, Zev. True enough."

Styx stopped and growled low and deep in his throat, causing the hair on Josslyn's arms to stand up. That seemed only fair since his fur was standing on end as well. They were apparently close. They broke through the scrubby brush and Joss literally stumbled to a stop. Damned tree root had come out of nowhere to trip her. She blamed Flemeth.

"Ah, Warden Josslyn. What a pleasant surprise."

"Somehow, Flemeth I doubt it is a surprise and it is definitely not pleasant." Ha, hardly any quiver in her voice at all.

"No, you've come to kill me, haven't you? My lovely Morrigan is so very predictable. But I hadn't thought you would be so gullible."

"I am not gullible," Joss flounced.

She stared at the woman before her. Bent with age, a mad gleam in her eye, Flemeth was an illusion of who Joss expected her to be. Was she a Somniari? Had she entered Joss's dreams to shape that vision? That was a particularly unpleasant thought.

"I suppose you won't tell me what exactly you are," Joss continued.

"No, I don't suppose I will. You are powerful, girl, but not nearly powerful enough to understand. At least not yet."

Oh, nothing ominous about those words. At. All. Joss frowned at the woman. "If you know why we're here, why not just give us the answers, the grimoire and your blessings and we'll be on our way."

The old crone threw her head back, cackling. "Oh! You I like. Brazen and bold but curiously naïve. And such an odd assortment of followers you've collected since your last visit to the Wilds."

"Is this where you use your clairvoyant talents and tell me all about my companions and their deep dark secrets?" Joss asked, voice dripping enough sarcasm to coat a loaf of bread.

"My, you are a prickly young woman, aren't you? One would almost think you were afraid."

"I take it you aren't going to sate my curiosity."

"No, I am not. You are welcome to take the grimoire and leave. If you do, you won't see me again."

"Will Morrigan? Are you still intent on possessing her body? Frankly, I don't see the appeal. She's a bit too thin and her attitude is really hard to take."

Flemeth's smile disappeared about the same time the sun disappeared into the mist. Goose bumps jumped along Josslyn's arms and she was seriously tempted to hide behind Zevran except that he was shorter by several inches.

"I would have thought a Grey Warden would be so busy stopping a Blight she wouldn't have time to concern herself with other business. Perhaps I was wrong about how difficult the task ahead of you was," Flemeth remarked in a deceptively calm and friendly voice.

"What are you?" Joss wondered aloud. "Not an abomination, not a spirit and certainly not human."

"What am I? I am dust."

"Excuse me?"

"Dust in the wind," Flemeth continued, enigmatic to the end.

"I see. So in a really strong wind, you'd just blow away?" Joss asked, willing enough to play along with the old hag's games. The longer she kept the woman-thing talking, the longer Joss would live.

"Tell me, Josslyn, have you ever wondered why you have the power to walk the Fade at will?"

Her heart stopped for a minute and then went for a race around her chest. "For dust, you are remarkably insightful and knowledgeable. You don't normally see that in dust."

Flemeth laughed again. "And you have deflected my question as ably as I have deflected yours. My goodwill is coming to an end, sadly."

"Yes, well, nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky. And I'm beginning to wonder about those," Joss replied but the addition of a full body shiver didn't give much strength to her words.

"So, what shall it be? Take the grimoire and tell Morrigan you killed me or do you really want to kill an old, old woman?"

Before Joss could form a response, Styx growled again and then with a mabari war shout, he lunged at the old woman, teeth bared. One minute the grey haired old crone was there and the next a huge, ugly and powerful dragon was standing in her place. Joss backed up. Quickly.

"Zev, now," she hissed and Zev disappeared into the shadows.

"Back as far as you can. Wynne, nothing but healing and support spells. Leliana, praying is good, as long as you also remember to shoot an arrow or two. Jowan, use blood if it will…damn it!" Joss broke off, furious at the blisters forming on her face from the flames Flemeth breathed in her direction.

"This bitch is toast!" Joss yelled and began to cast like her life depended on it. Which it did.

Joss caught movement out of the corner of her eye and then let out a long whistling breath of relief as she watched Zev throw himself on the dragon's back. He scrambled for a hold and finally grabbed a handful of scales. Flemeth roared and reared, exposing her chest, which the mages and Leliana took full advantage of.

Joss could feel the growing electricity around her as she gathered all her power for one large cast. Her hair began to float around her and the air shimmered and shifted. Her hands were glowing white with her power. She stretched her mind through the Veil and continued to let the power grow until she was in danger of losing control.

"Now!" she yelled and Jowan sliced open his arm. Her bolt of lightning hit just as Jowan's blood spell hit the dragon. A roar. Another, weaker and then a shriek followed by a ground-moving thud as the dragon fell lifeless to the ground. Zevran rolled away and lay on his back, panting.

"There has got to be an easier way to end a Blight," Joss grumbled, sinking down to sit beside Zevran. She gave a huff of laughter and then another until she was holding her sides, overcome with mirth.

"Maker, Joss, what is so blasted funny?" Jowan asked, staring at her with a large amount of concern in his blue eyes.

"I told Alistair not to come because he's become a fried lamb chop and…" she gasped, trying to hold back her laughter long enough to answer. She pointed to her blistered face and went into fresh paroxysms.

Wynne's sleep spell hit her mid laugh.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N:** _Thank you to CCBug for the 300__th__ review of this story. I am amazed and delighted and I thank you all so much for your continuing support.  
More AU ahead._

**Poof, the Magic Dragon**

Joss was furious when she finally woke up. She struggled to sit up and then leapt off the bed as she realized it was the same one she'd woken up in all those months ago when Flemeth had saved her life. Which she had just repaid the woman for by killing her. Nothing says 'thank you' like slaying the person. Or witch-dragon-thing.

"Wynne!" Joss barked as she stepped outside.

Everyone was gathered around an empty space where Flemeth's dead dragon form had been earlier. Josslyn's anger deserted her, which was good; it left more room for the fear. She rubbed at her eyes and then pinched her arm, yelping at the pain. She was awake. Was that good or bad?

"So, who moved the body?" she asked as calmly as she could. Which was to say not at all. It was that little squeak at the end that gave her away.

"It just disappeared," Jowan said, and the amount of awe in his voice rivaled the amount of horror in it.

"No, seriously, what happened? I can't believe you were able to actually move her. The dead weight of a dragon? Come on, quit playing around."

"I assure you, my lovely Warden, that is exactly what happened. One moment it was there and the next it simply faded away."

"So you're telling me that old dragons never die? They just fade away?" Joss asked with a laugh that came out sounding the wrong side of hysterical. "Just poof, the magic dragon is gone? How is that possible? No wait, it _isn't_ possible!"

"Perhaps it is a sign from the Maker," Sister Bedlamite whispered reverentially.

"What kind of sign do you suppose? Don't litter my wilds with dead magic dragons?" _Oh, I didn't know my voice could hit that high note. Lovely. _

"Does it matter? Now that you're awake, we should leave immediately. It isn't wise to stay here longer than necessary," Wynne advised sagely.

The reminder of why Joss had been furious when she first woke up lit the fire under her anger again. She stepped close to Wynne, so close that she could count the grey hairs on the woman's upper lip. Didn't she know there were spells that would take care of that? Old bat.

"Follow me," she instructed the older mage and didn't wait to see if Wynne obeyed. When she was far enough away from the others, she turned to face the Bane of Kinloch Hold.

"Wynne, did it occur to you that we could have left much sooner if you hadn't put me to sleep? Without my permission, I might add. That's a gross misuse of your magic, and since you taught the ethics class on such issues, you ought to have known better. In fact, if you ever do that again, I will personally ensure you are hopping through the Korcari Wilds looking for a suitable frog mate."

Wynne's eyes narrowed and she crossed her arms in front of her chest. "I did what I felt was necessary. You were clearly hysterical and I was concerned that your magic might get away from you. I also needed to treat those blisters immediately."

"Always a ready answer, but never an admission that you are wrong. You keep forgetting that while traveling with us you are just a mage, nothing more. I am in charge and you'd do well to remember that. And on the off chance you don't understand, let me reiterate, Wynne. Do. Not. Do. That. Again. Ever. Or you will be the first grey haired frog in the history of frogs."

With that off her chest, Joss stomped back to the spot where Flemeth had fallen. It certainly explained why the old crone had been relatively easy to kill…because she obviously wasn't dead. In fact, there was no blood at all on the site either and that fact made the hairs on the back of Josslyn's neck stand up and take notice.

Waving Zev over, she pointed to a large, shallow depression in the ground. If she closed one eye and looked down her nose it appeared to be the shape of a dragon. "That proves she fell, right?"

"My dear, she fell. You fell. I fell. She faded away, you took a nap and I searched the area for our magical dragon. I assure you, she is gone, as are you blisters. They were quite painful looking, and did nothing for your natural beauty."

There was a strong hint of concern in Zevran's voice and she smiled at him. "You weren't worried about me were you, my handsome assassin?"

"But of course, my lovely Warden. One never knows what a dragon is capable of."

Joss bumped his shoulder with hers. "Thank you," she said softly.

Standing, she brushed her hands off and brought them to her face. Not a blister, not a bit of pain. Wynne the Wizened may be a preachy, arrogant woman, but she did heal better than almost anyone she'd ever known. She'd be damned if she was going to thank the old biddy, however.

"Let's find the grimoire and get out of here before the dead dragon decides to return and kill _us_ this time."

The grimoire was in a small chest in the hut. Bound in a beautiful supple leather, worn and well cared for, it was embossed with a large, leafless tree. The book smelled of herbs and wood smoke and was warm to the touch. A leafless tree struck a note in Josslyn's tired brain. In ancient Tevinter, the leafless tree was used to depict strength and longevity, representing sacred respect; a curious and unsettling symbol to be associated with Flemeth.

Opening the grimoire, she discovered that the pages, yellowing but strangely not brittle, were covered with a spidery script in a language she didn't know. There were also runic symbols that she couldn't decipher and intricate diagrams that made no sense to her. Magic dragon? Ancient abomination? Whatever Flemeth was or was not, the answer wasn't going to be found in a grimoire she couldn't understand. At least not by her. Morrigan was a different matter altogether.

Joss slipped the grimoire into her pack and left the hut, feeling rather foolish as she closed the door behind her. It wasn't as if Flemeth was likely to return and be upset if the door was left open. She shivered, anxious to put as much distance as possible between the hut and herself.

It was a strangely silent group that made their way northwest to their camp. Joss was still trying to figure out why Flemeth had pretended to die. Why not just kill them and be done with it? Obviously there was something that Flemeth needed from her. But what? That was twice that the Witch of the Wilds had not let her die. She doubted there would be a third time.

What could she possibly have that a magic dragon-witch-type-thing could want? And why was Flemeth so willing to part with her true grimoire? How true could it be if she allowed them to take it back to Morrigan? This entire escapade had been an utter waste of time, not to mention an extremely creepy experience.

"I suppose we should tell Morrigan everything, including how Mommie Dearest disappeared after rolling over and playing dead? Won't that just put a smile on Morrigan's sweet little face?"

"Oh dear, I think she will be very unhappy, yes?" Sister One-Hit-to-the-Head-Too-Many cooed.

An hour later Styx, bouncing along beside Joss, stopped and began to growl, low and deep. Never a good sign. Never. Joss put a soothing hand on the dog's head and patted it. Poor Styx had lost a large patch of fur there, thanks to the fire breathing dragon they'd not actually killed. "What is it, Styx?" she murmured, glancing around.

They were still in heavy brush and the mist was ever present. It wasn't as if she could actually see anything, although she peered out into it anyway. Styx barked and then bounded off, quickly swallowed by the thick fog. Joss put two fingers in her mouth and whistled. Silence. She whistled again, louder. Nothing. Once more, because she'd heard the third time was a charm. It was not.

After several minutes that felt like hours, Joss sighed. "We need to keep going." An unhappy decision. She would rather it had been one of the others who'd gone running off into the strange mist that permeated the Wilds.

"We can't just leave Styx out here alone," Wynne protested.

Joss shot the elder mage a withering glare. She was not in the mood for any more backchat from anyone, least of all Wynne. "Then you're welcome to go out into that shroud of unnatural fog and search for him, Wynne. I can't afford to risk the rest of the group to do so. And if you choose to go look for him, don't come back because I can't afford to have people question my every decision, either."

Head high, eyes narrowed against a sudden watering in them, Joss continued on towards the camp. The others fell into step. Every few minutes, Joss stopped, whistled and then listened for Styx. The air remained unnaturally still and silent. Not even the sounds of insects chirping or birds singing broke the eerie hush around them.

Everyone in the group, having seen her break down a few days earlier, remained quiet as well, even Sister Bubbles and Titters. Joss couldn't fault them, really. She was afraid of herself at times.

"They're back!" Alistair exclaimed as soon as the group broke out of the woods and underbrush.

Joss wondered if anyone would notice if she curled up in a ball and sobbed like a little girl over the loss of Styx, the only one of her group of companions besides Teagan who understood her. Before she could do so, Teagan was pulling her into an embrace, his breath tickling at her ear. She was tempted to rest her head against his chest and just have a long loud cry. Again. At this rate she would turn into a watering pot. She sniffed mightily and stepped back.

"You look exhausted, my dear. Come sit down and tell us how it went."

She sniffed again and nodded before running back to the edge of the trees and whistling once more. There was still no response. No yapping. No barking. Not even a disapproving yelp. She wiped at her eyes before turning around and plastering a smile on her face.

"We came. We saw. We kicked its ass," Jowan crowed.

"Yes, we sure did. Right up to the part where she disappeared," Joss agreed, settling on a log.

"She disappeared?" Morrigan asked, coming to sit across the fire from Joss. The woman didn't sound the least bit surprised.

Morrigan's eyes were narrowed and cool, remarkably like her mother's eyes. An unnerving thought danced around in Josslyn's brain. What if Morrigan had already been possessed? What if the whole thing had been a ruse to fool them? It seemed an elaborate scheme and she had no idea why the woman would do such a thing but once there the idea took up permanent residence in her thoughts.

"You saw this happen?" the woman asked.

"Well, not personally, no. Someone decided I would be better served by taking a nap," Joss replied, shooting yet another withering glare at Wynne, who was, as always, impervious to it.

"You were hurt?" Teagan asked in concern, coming to sit beside her. He took her hand and studied her.

"Roasted by Flemeth," Jowan explained.

"What?" Teagan's hand tightened on hers. She winced. The man may be a noble, but his grip was every bit that of a warrior's. He loosened said grip once he was sure she was alright.

"Not roasted. Parboiled, perhaps," Zev spoke up helpfully.

"Lamb chop," Leliana agreed.

Alistair choked on his cheese.

"A few blisters, nothing more," Joss argued and then leaned against Teagan. She was exhausted, which was odd since she'd taken a nap, thanks to Wynne.

"Josslyn? Where's Styx?" Randal asked, looking around at the weary travelers.

Joss felt her lower lip tremble. Damnation she was _not_ going to cry. She blinked. "He went chasing into the Wilds."

"What do you mean?"

"What do you mean, what do I mean? I mean he ran off into the Wilds. What do you think I mean?"

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did he run off into the mist?"

"Why do dogs usually run off?" she asked, genuinely curious. Her knowledge of dogs was limited to just the one who'd run off. Did all dogs do that?

"The usual reasons."

Maker it was like running around in a circle on just one leg. Joss rubbed her forehead. "What are the usual reasons?"

"Dogs like to run off."

"What?"

"What what?"

"Andraste's bearded chin! Styx ran off, I have no idea why, and I didn't think it wise to go looking for him, considering Flemeth had disappeared and might reappear at any moment."

A silence fell, one of those that could be cut with a knife because it was so thick and full of recriminations. Joss's trembling lower lip stopped trembling and her chin tilted up.

"Stop looking at me like I'm some soulless, heartless woman," she finally said, feeling like some soulless, heartless woman.

"Ah, he's smart, he'll find his way back," Alistair reassured, leaning around Teagan to offer her a hunk of cheese.

The offer just made Joss feel worse. She opened her mouth several times but hadn't a clue as to what she could say in the way of comfort or apology so she snapped it shut again.

Finally, Teagan spoke up. "Give them time to collect themselves." Everyone dispersed like they had a date with the town's only virgin. Teagan kissed the top of her head and went off to check on dinner.

"Happy days, these Blight days," she muttered darkly.

Joss finally wandered over to the edge of the encampment again, whistling for Styx. She really was not cut out for leadership. In the space of a day she'd misplaced a rather large high dragon and her faithful dog. But had yet to raise an army in the months they'd been on the road. She let out a long-suffering sigh.

"I know you miss him, Joss. He'll come back," Alistair comforted, slipping an arm around her shoulders.

Joss barely refrained from doing a double take. Where had her baby brother Alistair gotten off too? The man beside her was no longer a blushing dolt. Well, he still blushed but he was less doltish. In fact, he really was filling into his bog boy pants. She rested her head on his shoulder and continued to watch the woods for Styx.

"What did you do today to keep busy?" she asked once she knew her words wouldn't be coated with tears.

"I ran the others through more drills and had them practice their smiting on Morrigan. Not for long, though, because she's a complete and utter bitch. Cathair and Randal shouldn't need any more training and Teagan's almost there.

"Oh! We studied the map and found a shortcut to Haven. Should cut off two days at least and it takes us through a town called Honnleath. We should be able to pick up provisions there."

Well that was good news. Sort of. Once they found the sacred bucket of ash and cinders would Teagan race back to Redcliffe and stay there for the rest of the Blight? Probably. He would if he was smart, anyway. And he certainly seemed intelligent enough.

"That's great. We'll leave at first light. Or possibly a bit after first light," she amended, thinking that her muscles would not be happy with her in the morning.

She was still standing there when Teagan came to fetch her for dinner. "Just tell me that Alistair didn't cook it. My face is not in need of that grey liquid he thinks is gravy."

"No, Randal made a delicious rabbit and dumpling stew. Alistair is rather a bad cook, isn't he?"

They walked back to the campfire, arm in arm. "Our little boy is growing up," Teagan remarked, a hint of pride mixed with humor in his tone. They watched Alistair as he handed out the nightly watch assignments.

"He certainly is. I believe having you along has been really good for him. And I know it's been good for me," she added and then immediately wanted to bite her tongue off. Stupid traitor.

"As it has been for me, Joss," Teagan replied sincerely, stopping to kiss her in front of the entire assembled group. Josslyn wondered if he would mind missing dinner in favor of tent time but her stomach growled rather fiercely and she shrugged. There was always later, if his smoldering look was anything to go by.

As they ate, Zev and Leliana related the embarrassing tale of their encounter with Flemeth. For some reason, the way they told it, Joss felt both heroic and idiotic but she was laughing with the rest of them as Zev regaled them with her bout of hysteria after the fight was over.

"It was the pain from the blisters; it made me less rational than normal."

The remark provoked a rather embarrassing amount of guffaws so Joss decided to ignore them all. She certainly could think of no other reason for her uncontrollable laughter after the battle with Flemeth.

"Did you find Mother's true grimoire?" Morrigan asked, coming to join them. That was a surprise. Morrigan made her own personal camp each night, rarely ate meals with them and never voluntarily joined them for any reason. Amazing what a _true_ grimoire could do to loosen a person up.

"I don't know how true it is, considering the battle was far too easy to be anything but a set-up. However, I did bring the only thing resembling a grimoire with us, yes. I'll bring it around to your camp later so we can talk."

Morrigan's expression went from courteous curiosity to suspicion in the blink of an eye, possibly less. Joss smiled politely at her. The woman was not about to get the grimoire without a discussion on the nature of Flemeth and why the dragon-witch-woman had sent Morrigan along with them.

There was a lengthy pause as everyone seemed to be waiting for a fight to break out between the two women but Joss merely smiled and continued eating her stew. Teagan was correct about Randal's stew. It was delicious. So was watching Morrigan squirm with impatience. However, Joss could only linger over her food for so long before it became obnoxiously obvious that she was stalling. Sighing, she set her bowl aside and stood up.

The grimoire still felt warm to the touch when Joss slid it out of her pack. Which was really creepy, It felt as if the grimoire was a living thing. A full body shiver later, Joss made her way to Morrigan's little slice of Ferelden. The witch had a pot of water simmering and she waved to a log pulled close to the fire. Joss sat and held on to the grimoire, watching and waiting. Morrigan was entirely too genial. Nothing came without a price of some kind and that was especially true with Morrigan.

"I do appreciate the effort you undertook, Josslyn."

Joss looked down at the ground, expecting to find her jaw there. Maybe she'd taken more damage from Flemeth than she'd first thought because that was the only explanation for her ears playing tricks on her.

"Tea?" Morrigan continued and Joss felt the prickling of gooseflesh on her arms.

"You're welcome and yes, please and why are you being so nice?" Joss asked, rubbing her arms to dispel the gooseflesh.

"Do you take me for a barbarian? You performed a service for me. I am expressing my thanks. Twould seem you are unfamiliar with the concept," Morrigan said dryly, arms folded and sneer in place.

_Well, I bloody well asked for that, didn't I?_ "Before I give you this grimoire, we need to discuss one or two little items."

"What is it you wish to know?"

Brrrr, did the temperature just drop a few degrees? "Why did your mother send you with us?"

"I doubt you would understand or believe me should I tell you."

Joss rolled her eyes. "Or, you know, I can keep the bloody book." Oh, unfortunate choice of words there.

Morrigan's eyes narrowed. "Very well, if that is what you would have of me," she said reluctantly. She sat down on a stump and looked at the group gathered at the main campfire.

For a split second, Joss saw a look of genuine sadness flicker across the witch's face. Damnation! She was not going to start feeling badly for every one of her companions was she? Next she'd want to play dress up with Sister Chuckles and Giggles. Joss shook her head.

"Do you know why a Grey Warden must kill the Archdemon?"

Must they? That didn't sound healthy. At. All. Joss schooled her face and shook her head, cursing the damnable Grey Wardens and their asinine secrets. _Oh, we need to save the world and let's not tell anyone why, let them guess. That way when we all die, we can hang out in the Beyond and laugh at them all._ Idiots.

"The darkspawn are soulless creatures, empty vessels. When the Archdemon is slain, its soul seeks the nearest tainted creature. If the soul enters a darkspawn it merely reshapes that darkspawn and once again becomes a tainted dragon."

Well that didn't sound good. Not in the least. But it also didn't explain why a Grey Warden was needed or why Morrigan was traveling with them. Joss frowned. Empty vessels. Morrigan had referred to herself as an empty vessel. Her gooseflesh rose again. Was Morrigan suggesting she was soulless? She was a bitch, sure, but soulless? Joss felt a headache forming at the base of her skull. And Grey Wardens were tainted and had souls but that - oh no.

"Grey Wardens aren't soulless, are they? What happens when the Archdemon enters the Grey Warden?" Joss finally managed to ask, once she was sure her voice didn't come out in a high pitched squeal.

"Poof."

"I'm sorry?"

"Isn't that the expression you used to describe Mother's disappearance earlier today? Your soul and the Archdemon's soul cannot occupy the same place."

Joss stared at Morrigan, looking for signs of deceit and saw none. She didn't even see a hint of malice. Maker's hairy purple ass! She saw pity in Morrigan's eyes. "So, the Warden and the Archdemon go poof?" she said around a tongue that felt huge and as dry as a dockworker after a hard day's work.

"The souls of both are destroyed. The Archdemon dies and so does the Grey Warden."

Joss gave free rein to her chaotic thoughts which consisted mostly of "oh shit, oh shit, oh Maker's holy shit" and variations on the theme. No wonder there were no recruitment pamphlets lying around for the Wardens. _Join us! See the world! Drink some sludge! Kill an Archdemon! Die!_ No, she thought this might be the second reason the Wardens kept secrets, the first being their rather liberal use of blood magic in their rituals.

"And the reason you're traveling with us?"

"An ancient ritual, performed in the dead of night…"

"Alright, stop right there. The last ancient ritual I attended in the dead of night involved blood magic and my becoming a Grey Warden. Are there goats involved?"

Morrigan rolled her eyes, making a scoffing noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort of laughter. What could possibly be funny about the situation? Unless there _were_ goats involved. Josslyn's stomach began to roil and churn.

"Don't' tell me, let me guess. It involves blood magic?"

"Some would call it that, yes, and I must conceive a child."

Joss choked on her own saliva. She coughed and hacked and gasped, her eyes streaming. It took her several minutes to regain her breath and she never did regain her composure. She had no idea where it had gone off to.

A blood magic ritual in the dead of night to conceive a baby with whom? Joss did not want to know. At. All. She really, really didn't want to even give voice to the question. So naturally she asked.

"A Grey Warden, of course," Morrigan responded with cool deliberation.

"Well sure, of course. I knew that. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be right back," Joss replied with a smile that quivered at the corners. She wondered just how green her face was because, based on the way her stomach was convulsing, she should be extremely green. Frog green. If she hurried she could just make it to the bushes before she revisited Randal's delicious rabbit stew and dumplings.

She tripped over an exposed root and went head first into the bushes.


	21. Chapter 21

**One Toad Over the Line**

"You have a very weak stomach," Morrigan sniffed, handing Joss a tin cup of weak tea.

"And you have immovable breasts. You tell me your secrets, I'll tell you mine."

Maker, her voice shook and shuddered like an old lady's. She gulped the tea, scalding her tongue in the process. Joss detested losing the contents of her stomach. It always made her feel weak as a kitten and disinclined to be nice.

"Now, where were we before I took a trip to the bushes? Oh right, the part where your mother sent you along to get the soul of an old god. Tell me again how that's a good thing?"

Joss thought it was a fair question. It wasn't as if Morrigan was asking for a new pair of shoes or something. Morrigan, however, seemed to think otherwise. She huffed a bit and the air took on the chill of winter. She did not, however, deign to speak.

"Alrighty then, guess there'll be no old god soul for you," Joss said and picked up the grimoire.

"I have no idea why Mother wants it," the witch said quickly. Joss gave a very inelegant snort. She looked into Morrigan's golden eyes which were staring off somewhere over Josslyn's left shoulder. Joss found it difficult not to turn and see what was so interesting behind her. She wouldn't give the shapeshifter the satisfaction.

After a minute or two of implacable wills clashing, Joss smiled, waiting for her to continue. Morrigan stood, regal and silent. It was likely that she was lying. Again. Or still. It hardly mattered. The likelihood of her becoming mother to an old god was about as likely as Joss and Wynne becoming bosom buddies.

"Truly? You feel no obligation to be honest? You've lived with Flemeth your entire life and you have no idea why she would want the soul of an old god? Pardon me if I find that as difficult to swallow as that egg and malt concoction you drink every evening. What do you call it again? Oh yes, ovamaltine. Lovely."

"It matters naught what you believe, for I speak the truth." Oooh, chilly and disdainful in one breath. Joss added warmth to her smile.

"The truth? Morrigan, if the truth came up and slapped you in the face, you wouldn't recognize it. You have lied to us the entire time you've been with us. Now would be the best possible time to 'fess up."

"I have nothing more to say on the matter."

"Good, then we both know where the other stands. When you're ready to discuss this honestly, you know where to find me. And I would seriously consider finding another group to travel with. While you are helpful to have around, you are not necessary."

A look of something that resembled fear chased across Morrigan's usually inscrutable face. Ah, a target hit. Joss stood and started to leave but stopped and looked at Morrigan. She hated the pull of sympathy she felt for the witch, but there it was staring her in the face. Damnation.

"You don't owe her anything, least of all your loyalty. But if you're afraid of her, well…I can appreciate that. Not everyone grows up under the wrathful gaze of a high dragon-witch type thing. However, I can't help you if you fight me every step of the way."

Not that she had any idea how to help Morrigan keep from becoming possessed by a powerful entity of unknown origins. Or how to be a parent to an old god baby or, well, any baby for that matter. At least she now knew how to kill an Archdemon. That was cold comfort. As in icy cold. She shivered as she walked away.

The rest of the group had gathered around the campfire. Joss wasn't about to join them until she'd cleaned up and put the grimoire back in her pack and she was _still_ looking for her composure. She gathered her soap and a cotton cloth and then whistled for her favorite watchdog to accompany her. Styx didn't appear. Tears clogged her throat but refused to fall. A great weight sat like Alistair's stew in the pit of her stomach.

"Bugger it all," she muttered and marched down to the creek. Alone, except for the bright smile of the moon. She avoided the rather large mud puddle that had formed on the low bank of the creek, a gift left from the men bathing earlier in the evening.

She sat on a rock and dipped the cloth in the cool water. She was not going to cry again. Ever. No matter what. She scrubbed her face and sniffed again. No tears. None. Ever. No matter what. Another sniff.

"Maker's mustache, don't you dare cry, you traitor!" she hissed at herself and proceeded to clean up, blaming her sniffles and red eyes on allergies.

"We need to talk," Teagan announced, coming up behind her. She gave a startled yelp, dropping her cloth and soap into the creek. She watched as the cloth floated away.

"Would that be before or after you scare the living daylights out of me?" she asked, wondering if she could catch the cloth. Not likely, as swift as the current was. She sighed.

"Josslyn, do me the honor of becoming my wife."

"Uhm, beg pardon?" she articulated.

He came to sit beside her and took her hand in both of his. Oh Maker's limp di…he wasn't serious was he? She jerked her hand out of his.

"Marry me," he continued.

Joss stood up and took several steps away from him, her heart yammering like an old woman gossiping with her neighbors over a fence. Had he gone mad? They said lunacy occurred in people during a full moon. Or had he taken a bump to his head she was unaware of? He opened his mouth and she shook her head.

"Don't say that again."

"Josslyn, I want to do the honorable thing." He seemed surprisingly calm, especially compared to her. She was tempted to run around in circles, screaming and shouting hysterically.

"Maker's ass, what are talking about?" Joss asked, taking several more steps away from the nobleman who was sitting on the rock in the moonlight, looking impossibly sexy. Sexy and crazy. There was something irresistible about that combination.

"Why didn't you just come and tell me?" he asked, all tender amusement.

Joss rubbed her eyes and pinched her arm. She looked around for the raw Fade, wondering how she'd managed to fall asleep without realizing it. Except that she hadn't. Teagan watched her expectantly, waiting. For what? She had no idea what he was talking about.

"Tell you what?"

"About being in a delicate condition?"

"There is absolutely nothing delicate about me, least of all my condition. Erm, what condition would that be, exactly?"

"My dear, I understand your reluctance; you've a great many tasks to complete but for the sake of the child, should you not go to Redcliffe and wait there for us? I think we can manage to find the urn without your assistance and I would be much relieved if you were out of harm's way."

Joss opened her mouth to speak and then closed it again, searching for something equally tender to say to him. "Maker's crooked yellow teeth! What are you nattering on about?" Joss asked, trying to decipher his babble. Oh yes, very tender and terribly intelligent. Or just plain terrible.

Teagan frowned but said nothing.

"What child? What condition? What do you…oh!" she gasped on a squeak as understanding came thumping her upside the head.

Joss sat down abruptly - her legs having turned to water - unmindful of the mud. She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at the absurdity of the conversation but she didn't want to hurt Teagan's feelings. Well, no more than she already had.

"You think I'm pregnant? Oh Teagan, you sweet man," she said. "Why on earth would you think such a thing?"

Teagan's expression went from tender to bemused to offended in the two blinks of an eye. "Because you keep losing your meals and your moods have been rather…erratic…and you haven't had your…"

"Stop, stop. I get the point."

She took in a deep breath, ruffling her hair as she exhaled. "Your very generous offer is appreciated but not necessary. I'm not pregnant. My stomach is always jumpy, I'm afraid. From what I've read, it is a common ailment among Somniari and Fade Walkers. We don't ever completely leave the fade. Or rather, it's like walking with one foot in the Fade and one foot here. Think of it like the feeling you get on a rough sea in a small boat. From what I gather that can have the same effect."

"Oh."

"It's an embarrassing side effect of an ability I didn't really want. Some days are worse than others and it's influenced by my emotional state, which is, as you've stated, erratic."

"And the other symptoms?"

Joss pondered telling him a lie but he was looking at her with those blue eyes of his that were still entirely too tender and now slightly more amused than they had been moments before.

"Mages in the tower learn several ways of preventing pregnancy and one of them is a potion that seems to affect my moods and stop my flow. I think the taint in my blood is causing a stronger side-effect than normal; I just haven't had time to figure out how to alter the formula.

"Well, that and the whole crazy situation I find myself in. It doesn't lend itself to an even-temperament. Before I joined the Wardens I only left the tower to go to neighboring farms to harvest herbs for my experiments. I never led anyone anywhere. In fact, people tended to believe my leading anything was as dangerous as having a wolf lead sheep.

"None of this is quite what I had in mind when Duncan invited me to be all I can be. He sort of forgot the more important details." Like how it takes a Warden to kill an Archdemon. Or how to make more of the Joy Juice. Or anything else the least bit important. _Join us brothers and sisters, join us while we hide all the really vital bits of information from you._

"Teagan, you are such a noble man. I can't believe you'd offer to marry me under any circumstances and I'm really…"

But she couldn't finish because a set of very knowledgeable lips were pressed against hers and she thought it would behoove her to return the kiss. Sexy, crazy and a good kisser. He was a keeper. Josslyn's eyes flew open. No keeping. Keeping was bad. She scrambled backwards.

"And now I need to clean up again. This mud is…well, muddy. And cold."

"Josslyn, I admit I'm relieved that you're not pregnant but only because the Blight is probably not the best time for pregnancy or childbirth. That doesn't mean I don't want to marry you."

Joss gulped. "As in 'til death do us part kind of marry?"

Teagan laughed lightly. "Is there a different kind?" he asked, offering his hand.

Josslyn's body made a soft sucking noise as she pulled herself up out of the mud, gripping his hand. "Why would you want to marry me? You just finished saying that I get sick a lot, I have mood swings and we both know I need a lot of work on my people skills."

He was silent for several long moments and when he finally began to speak, she placed a rather muddy hand across his mouth. "Don't. Just don't do this to yourself."

"It isn't me who's doing something to themselves, Josslyn. It's you. You're so afraid of loving someone that you go into a crazy kind of panic when someone gets close to you."

"I do not. Or at least I wouldn't say it was crazy."

"Crazy."

"Then why would you even consider marrying me?"

"Because, dear lady, I've fallen in love with you."

Joss plunked back down in the mud, her legs deciding they really _did_ prefer to have water for bones after all. He was in love with her? Was he insane? She was a mage, for Maker's sake, and half the time even _she_ wondered if she was mad as a hatter. And she wasn't about to examine her own feelings for the wonderful, sexy, intelligent man who was offering her a hand up yet again. She ignored the hand, and her own feelings.

"Well who told you to do that?" she finally blurted out.

Teagan's expression became less tender and just a bit grim around the edges of his smile. "What kind of a question is that? Do you think I planned to fall in love with you?"

Well he had her there. She couldn't imagine anyone who was that insane. She shook her head. "You don't have to say you love me. I'll still share a tent with you."

"My dear, I honestly love you."

"Well stop it."

"I can't stop loving you. It's not something I can turn off just because you demand it."

"Don't throw your love away, Teagan. I'm not the right person for you."

"Listen, Joss, this guy's in love with you. Get used to the idea."

"Will you still love me tomorrow? When I am cranky and irritable and chasing after the Archdemon?"

"Love grows, Josslyn. It doesn't diminish simply because you're not perfect."

"Love hurts. In fact, you always hurt the ones you love, or rather they hurt you. Sometimes both. Not that I think about it."

"All you need is love," Teagan countered as he sat down in the mud beside her. "And that's the end of the discussion, except for the part where you agree to marry me."

Joss stared at him, feeling oddly euphoric at the thought. "What if…" she began but he raised a muddy hand and pressed it against her lips. Hardly romantic but she was smiling like a loon anyway. She wiped her mouth on the only clean spot left on her robes.

"You barely know me," she finally said, as if there was some rule written somewhere that said Josslyn Winifred Amell must always get the last word in. And there was, in a little book entitled: _The World According to Joss_. Teagan had apparently not read it.

"I know you well enough, Josslyn, and to know you is to love you. Now, are you agreeing to marry me? I assure you there are many women in Ferelden who would jump at the chance."

Joss snickered. "Toads, the lot of them."

"Is that a bit of jealousy I hear in your voice? There's hope yet."

Teagan pulled her closer, mud and all, his lips finding hers and then they were both laughing as they sat in the mud, kissing. Which led to a mud fight. Which led to them stripping and washing in the cold creek water. Which led to dancing in the moonlight and then making love in their tent.

"I think I love you, so what am I so afraid of?" she whispered as they were drifting off to sleep.

"A question we both need the answer to," Teagan responded quietly and pulled her close. "Tomorrow."

* * *

Styx arrived at first light.

He had several cuts that were oozing blood and he was limping and his fur was matted but he was alive and wore what could only be described as a look of triumph. He also had an amulet dangling from his mouth.

"'Tis one of Mother's," Morrigan said, bending down to take the amulet from his mouth.

Joss aimed a small jolt of electricity at Morrigan's hand and took the amulet when the witch's hand recoiled in surprise.

"Good boy. Where did you find it? And where were you? You had us all worried sick."

Styx gave a mournful howl and proceeded to lick her face with his rough tongue. She pushed his snout away, laughing. He was back and it made her wonder, very briefly, if it was possible to love without loss. Probably not but she was fairly certain it was too late to do much about her feelings anyway.

The amulet had the same unnatural feel as the grimoire. A mystical, eerie warmth. A subtle hum. She turned it over in her hand and saw that it bore the same leafless tree as the grimoire. She rubbed her thumb along the etched tree and wondered what it meant. The amulet sprang open at her touch and she stared at the contents of the small compartment. A lock of hair, a drop of dried blood and a fang nestled on moss. Creepy to the nth degree. She snapped the amulet shut.

"How many of these did she have?" Joss asked, as casually as she could.

"I have no idea. I saw only three of them but there could have been more. I wasn't privy to Mother's secrets."

Well that was a lie. She'd been privy to a few of them at least. She raised a disbelieving eye but Morrigan was already walking back to her tent. Well, really it was more of a stalk than a walk. Still, she was regal even in that.

Joss wondered just who Morrigan's father had been, that she held herself with such royal dignity. And then she shivered as she recalled a story about Maric and Loghain chronicling their adventures during the Rebellion. It was a salacious and bawdy tale, _Golden Roue; Dark Knight_. A tale that was not to be believed because, really, how bawdy could Loghain possibly be? The author wrote of a long visit with the Witch of the Wilds in which Maric was alone with the witch for several hours while Loghain cooled his heels outside. The part about Loghain cooling his heels was believable but the tawdry details of the witch and the prince were less so. Until now.

Joss tried to remember if she'd read anything about Maric in the black grimoire she'd discovered in the circle. Nothing that she recalled, although Flemeth had mentioned a charming young vagabond with golden curls. Still, Morrigan hardly looked thirty years old. Joss found no comfort in that thought. Flemeth hadn't looked over four hundred years old either. A shiver went jogging along her spine.

"Oh, look at the poor doggie. He is feelthy," Sister Treacle twittered. "Do you want a bath, you brave puppy?"

"Puppy? He's a full grown, kaddis painted wardog not an Orlesian lapdog," Cathair snorted. The warrior shook her head in mild disgust. "I'll tend his wounds, Commander."

"Cathair, stop calling me that. I'm not commanding anything."

"Yes, Commander."

Joss gnashed her teeth. She was not a commander and she was not in love with the man standing beside her and why people insisted otherwise was beyond her. She opened her mouth to speak and then closed it. With a shrug she slipped the amulet into her hip kit and stood up.

Wynne found her a few minutes later as Joss was sipping her first cup of tea. The elder mage wore her thundercloud look, which meant someone was in trouble. Joss would guess it was her. Again. Possibly still. Maybe always.

"We need to talk," Wynne said, voice stony.

"About?"

"Your conduct."

Joss carefully set her cup of tea aside and stood. "My conduct?" she asked in a neutral voice, which anyone who really knew her meant: 'Danger, danger!'

"I say this because I care about you, Josslyn. There's no need to get so defensive. You represent not just mages, but the Grey Wardens as well. It would behoove you to remember that and stop carrying on like a love-struck adolescent."

"Don't you dare tell me how to conduct myself, Wynne. You can walk around as patronizing as you want but don't pretend it's because you care about me."

"Young lady, I do care. I've always cared!"

Joss was surprised by the vehemence in Wynne's voice but it did not lessen her growing anger with the Wizened One. "Nonsense. You're doing what you've always done; trying to mold all the mages into miniature Wynnes."

Joss became aware of the others gathering around them in the way that people gather to watch an accident happening, with a sort of horrified fascination. She was determined not to let Wynne the White get under her skin. Determined did not make it so.

"I most certainly do not. I have spent the last thirty years trying to ensure mages have the skill and control necessary to face their life in the tower."

"You really don't see yourself as blameless in Joseph's death do you?" Joss sneered. Oh good, so much for maintaining control. And keeping her own business private.

"You seem content to blame me for every loss you ever suffered. I did what I felt was right at the time, I had no idea Joseph wasn't prepared. As to the other loss, I was following the rules as set forth by the chantry. I had no choice but to take Bri…"

"_Innah Ghawdah Daveedah! Toadioso Ad Nausuem!_" Joss roared, her hands twisting and twirling in the air.

Silence, uninterrupted by even a bird's chirp, descended on the camp as ever eye turned to look at Wynne. Joss, equal parts fury and embarrassment, stood shaking as she too looked at the old mage. She wasn't quite sure how to break the silence.

"I didn't believe that was possible, my lovely Warden. Well done."

"Oooh, isn't she adorable. I love that cap of white hair. Can I hold her?"

"Wow, where'd you learn that spell? Can you teach me?"

"Tell me the spell is reversible, my dear."

"So all those rumors about frogs and toads I heard about in my templar training are true?"

"'Twould seem so."

"Ribbit."

**A/N:** _Ovamaltine was the original name for Ovaltine, a Cheeky Monkey reference._


	22. Chapter 22

_A/N: My thanks to Josie Lange, Tyanilth and Gene Dark for their help in deciding how long Wynne the Toad should continue to 'ribbit' before being un-toadified. You ladies rock! _

_This will be the last update before I go on vacation. The next one should be sometime after the 12__th__ of July._

**Hopping Mad**

All eyes were focused on the slimy green toad hopping and croaking madly, its cap of white hair bouncing with each hop. Joss was afraid to look at the assembled group but not out of a sense of embarrassment. She dared not look because she knew she would collapse into a giggling heap. She knew her demise, at the hands of Wynne, was eminent…death by lecture. But, Andraste's curly beard, it was worth it to see the elder mage leaping up on those skinny green legs.

"Joss?"

"Yes, Alistair?" she asked before biting her lower lip to keep the bubbles of laughter at bay.

"Don't you think you should change her?"

"Change her? You don't like the outfit she's wearing? I think green goes quite nicely with her eyes."

"That's not what I mean and you know it."

"Do I?" Joss asked, sneaking a glance at Zevran. Zev gave her a wolfish grin in reply. She quickly lowered her eyes, snorting back a bark of laughter.

"The spell wears off after a few hours," Joss explained with another grin.

"My dear, I believe if we are to make Honnleath by tomorrow evening we should leave very soon. We'd make better time if Wynne were to walk on two legs rather than hopping," Teagan interjected, a twitch of a smile hiding behind his hand. He coughed politely.

She glanced at him, hoping he wasn't reconsidering his recent proposal. Not that she had accepted it in so many words. The "yes, yes, oh Maker yes," had been in response to something altogether different.

Teagan's eyes held a glint of mischief but there was also just a hint of concern in them. Joss gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. She was not about to feel badly for so effectively closing Wynne's mouth. Transmogrification was a much better option than the other spell she had wanted to cast, which would have sent Wynne flying in several different directions at the same time.

"Hmmm, I am not entirely sure I remember how to reverse the spell," Joss mused, tapping her chin and doing her best to look pensive.

"In Orlais it is said that the kiss from a prince will turn a toad into a beautiful princess," Sister Leliana of the Blessed Lunatics breathed, staring raptly at Wynne, who was croaking loudly and persistently.

"How fortunate! We just happen to have a prince in our midst," Joss agreed, grinning cheerfully at Alistair. Alistair's face paled and he shook his head, backing away from both the toad and Leliana.

"Oh, I am sorry, I am mistaken. That saying is about frogs, not toads," Sister Happy Happy, Joy, Joy breathed regretfully.

Alistair's sigh of relief could be heard as far away as Denerim, Joss thought with a snicker. Frogs and toads were close cousins, it hardly mattered but she wasn't going to argue with the clueless woman.

"I am surprised to find myself in agreement with Josslyn. 'Tis indeed a complimentary shade of green," Morrigan intoned, expression a bit less disdainful than normal. Joss wasn't sure which was more frightening, Wynne's wrath or Morrigan's approval.

"I'd suggest just picking her up and stuffing her in a pack for now. We need to get moving."

"So you are saying, my dear Cathair, we should _hop_ to it?" Zev asked, enjoying himself and the situation entirely too much. Joss was right there with him. Her enjoyment was unseemly, she was sure. But it was ever so much fun watching the White Haired One hop and jump and croak.

Maker, was that Wynne's tongue shooting out and – ugh – snatching a fly out of thin air? Someone behind her gagged but Joss couldn't take her eyes off the toad, waiting to see if Toad Wynne actually ate the fly. She did.

"Hmm, I wonder if she can hear us and understand what we're saying. Wynne, croak once for no, twice for yes," Jowan said, enunciating each word and speaking very loudly.

"Ribbit! Ribbit! Ribbit, crooooaak!"

"Apparently she can hear but not count," Randal murmured, fascinated. "She probably lost the ability during the transformation."

"Randal, my friend, surely there is no need to _jump_ to conclusions."

"This certainly brings a whole new meaning to the phrase '_hopping mad_,' doesn't it?"

That sent Wynne into another fit of croaking. Obviously her sense of humor hadn't transmogrified with her. Josslyn's grin widened. She hadn't had so much fun since the night she, Joseph and Brin had cast levitate spells on the Senior Enchanter's beds and then sounded First Bell.

Sandal wandered up to the group, scratching his head and staring obliquely at them. He looked down at the ground and then at Joss and then back at the toad that was hopping around, her call now more of a quorrrrk than a croak. Joss assumed it was to express outrage, but she was no expert in the field of Croakery.

"Enchantment!" Sandal cried, clapping his hands. "I likes the froggie."

Joss had never heard anything other than "enchantment" from Sandal and she blinked in surprise. He was jumping up and down, clapping, mimicking Wynne. She was tempted to pick the frog up and hand it to the dwarf. Toad Wynne obviously spoke to him on some fundamental level.

Once Wynne's very agitated croaking died down, Joss cleared her throat. "I'm sure it's not easy being green so there's a slight chance that when she reverts to herself she'll be a bit upset. I need to make sure I have all my mana because I'm fairly sure I'll need it. For defensive spells," she added quickly when Teagan began to speak.

"I know you felt justified, Josslyn, but perhaps now would be the time to untoadify her? Detoadify? Maker's breath, I have no idea what you call it," Teagan sighed, shaking his head and looking slightly exasperated.

Joss wondered if he was trying to come up with a way to retract his marriage proposal. After all, who wanted a transmogrifying wife? Fun at children's parties, sure, but embarrassing at soirees. _Oh look, there's that awful snob Arlessa Blobbity Blob. Let's just see how she looks in green._ No, definitely not something one would want to advertise about their future wife.

"Very well, everyone hold your breath and prepare to _jump_ out of the way should she come out swinging."

A round of snickering greeted her instructions. Joss took a deep breath and began to weave her hands in the intricate arcs the spell demanded. Toad Wynne hopped onto Alistair's sabaton and croaked wildly at him. Alistair, eyes wide and panicked, shook his foot, sending the toad flying through the air. For a woman her age Wynne was surprisingly spry as a toad, Joss would give her that.

Styx began barking and growling, sniffing at the white haired toad and for a wild moment Joss thought he might actually eat Wynne. She stopped the incantation and patted Styx before nudging him back, wondering why he was so agitated.

Joss would have preferred to keep Wynne a toad indefinitely but they needed the woman's healing skills and there was a tiny part of Joss – just a very tiny bit – that felt badly for losing her temper and transmogrifying Wynne. Perhaps impulse control was part of the "people skills" everyone kept harping on her about. She began drawing the delicate patterns again.

"One patronizing healer coming up. Oh! Oh Maker! Styx, NO!" Joss yelled. "Zev!"

Zev grabbed the mabari's collar seconds before the war dog's jaws clamped down on the greenness that was Wynne. Styx strained against the elf's hold, barking and howling. Joss wasn't sure Zev was strong enough to hold the dog back.

"Alistair, move Wynne!" she ordered, already casting the spell. "_Video sed non credo_,"****** she chanted. "_Toadioso reversabundium_."

In hindsight, she realized she should have waited until Alistair put Wynne down again before releasing the spell but it was too late to do anything more than watch. The slimy green toad in Alistair's grip became a very angry Wynne. The sudden added weight sent Alistair stumbling backwards and he went sprawling in the dirt, Wynne draped on top of him.

Joss barely had time to note where his left hand was. Zev must have noticed as well, judging from his expression. Alistair nearly knocked himself out as he flung his hand off Wynne's breast, smacking himself on his forehead in the process.

Joss couldn't decide if she wanted to laugh or cry. She felt ridiculously sorry for poor Alistair and concerned about Styx's odd behavior and just a bit nervous about what Wynne might have in store for her by way of retaliation. Not that she regretted her spell for a moment. She most certainly didn't. Feeling badly about losing her temper was not the same as regretting her action.

"You were right, my lovely Warden. Alistair is definitely a breast man."

"I hate you both," Alistair muttered, his face a curiously deep reddish purple that she would call puce on anyone else. Not a becoming color for him. At. All.

As her companions helped Wynne and Alistair to their feet, Joss knelt down by Styx and scratched behind his ears. He growled again, this time at her, which made the hair on her arms rise up and take notice. Handy, since his fur was also standing up. What was wrong with him?

"It's alright, boy. You're safe. That nasty old toad can't hurt me, but I appreciate your wanting to eat her for breakfast in order to protect me."

Styx barked and then licked her face before loping off to stand at Teagan's side. So much for loyalty, she thought, wiping his drool from her face.

Wynne, having become herself again, was furious. Joss waved the others ahead. "If I'm not there is ten minutes, consider Alistair in charge and you all just quell the Blight without me."

She briefly considered encasing the senior mage in ice to cool her down but decided she'd cast enough spells for the time being.

Once the others pretended to be out of earshot - and it was obvious to Joss they were all listening intently because they all appeared a bit_ too_ nonchalant - she turned to Wynne. "I believe I warned you what would happen if you weren't careful." Oh, wonderful tone and inflection, full of righteous indignation. She took a second to congratulate herself before focusing her attention on the Wizened One.

Joss was impressed, if a bit surprised, by the depth of knowledge Wynne demonstrated for the next few minutes. Language she never expected to hear from the Pious Pontificator combined with some impossible to fulfill physical requests hummed through the air. Joss was sure she wasn't _that_ nimble although she was willing to experiment later with Teagan.

"How dare you use forbidden magic in such a way! And on me!" the woman continued, finally winding down after a three minute dissertation on just where Josslyn needed to go and how to get there and what she needed to do along the way, all of which involved a horse, the Void and doing things no sane person would ever attempt. Had her language not been so colorful and inventive, Joss would have put a stop to the lecture but she was truly fascinated by it.

"I might have known Brinmar would teach you that spell. How much of the forbidden magics do you know?" Wynne hissed, outraged, radiating enough disapproval to make even the most hardened criminal weep and beg forgiveness. Joss snorted. The old biddy had stepped over the line and Josslyn's temper rose several notches.

"Does it matter? Knowing even one of the forbidden spells is a crime. What will you do? Turn me over to the templars like you did Brinmar? Gloat when they separate my head from my body?" Joss sneered contemptuously. Did the old bat really think herself blameless? That Joss would forget? And how could she forgive Wynne? The woman had never asked to be forgiven, had never even apologized.

Wynne's face turned the color of soured milk, her lips pressed tightly together. After a few minutes of mutual glaring, the old mage finally spoke. "I didn't expect them to kill Brinmar. The templars assured me they would merely make him Tranquil."

"Is that an apology? Really? Because if it is you really need to work on _your_ people skills."

With that Joss turned, walking away from Wynne. She had more important matters to attend to and she was confident that Wynne wouldn't hand her over to the templars until the Blight had ended. Which, at the rate things were going, would be when Joss was an old, white haired crone.

"Now that woman has some amazing curses in her repertoire. I wish I'd had quill and vellum, I'd have written some of them down," Cathair remarked casually. Joss agreed. She actually found herself envious of Wynne's vivid and colorful imagination. She wondered again if the rumors about Greagoir, Sweeney and Wynne were true because some of the things Wynne had suggested to Joss would only be possible with more than two consenting and remarkably agile adults. Probably best not to ask her, at least not yet.

"At the risk of becoming a toad, I would like to hear about this Brinmar person," Teagan said as they tromped along the narrow path that would take them to Honnleath.

Well sure, of course he'd want to know. The entire bloody group wanted to know. She could feel everyone's eyes on her, although Alistair was too busy glaring at her to actually say anything and if he didn't start watching where he was walking he was likely to…too late. Joss winced as Alistair and a tree collided head on. The tree won.

She hurried over to the young templar and cast her only healing spell. A weak green glow limped from her fingers to his forehead. "Did that mean old tree jump out and hit you?" she asked in sympathy, kneeling beside him.

"Are there stars out? I see stars."

"Those aren't stars, Alistair. They're miniature wheels of cheese."

"Oh, right, I see that now."

After a minute or two, Alistair groaned and sat up. "Note to self. No glaring at the mean mage while walking. Glaring is bad."

She really ought to thank him for postponing the inevitable talk she knew was coming. Teagan had been patience personified but even he had his limits and she sensed he'd reached them. Teagan's hand slid under her elbow with practiced ease as he helped her stand.

"If I was a suspicious man I would wonder if you put that tree there as a delaying tactic."

"I'm good but I'm not _that_ good."

Wynne, cold, implacable and dignified, swept past them, leaving icebergs in her wake. Joss waved the others on ahead. "Second verse same as the first. If I'm not there, start the Blight without me."

She found a large boulder just off the path and sat down. Teagan sat beside her. Where to start and what to say? At the beginning, of course, and as little as possible.

"Wouldn't you be happier just going back to Redcliffe and forgetting you ever met me? Maker knows I would be happier forgetting I ever met me."

"My dear, you'll have to do more than turn a busybody into a toad to scare me away."

_See, that's why I love you. Love? No, no, no. Not love. Like. Like is good. Oh Maker's mixed nuts, I don't want to fall in love again. _It was too bloody late. Joss let out an aggrieved sigh.

"Brinmar was a Chasind mage, what the templars call a hedge mage. He was caught near Lothering and brought to the tower. Are you sure you want to hear this?"

"Quite sure."

"Can it wait until tonight?" she asked hopefully.

"No, my dear, it can't. Now quit stalling, milady."

Splendid. Joss looked down at the ground for inspiration. Nothing there. She looked up at the sky. Ditto. She looked at Teagan. He was waiting with an encouraging smile. Joss took a deep breath and plunged headlong into the story.

"He was so different from the other mages, so full of life and wisdom and…" Joss trailed off, feeling that thickness in her throat that meant tears were eminent. She really, really, _really_ didn't want to cry in front of Teagan again.

"And you fell in love with him?" Teagan asked softly, taking her hand in his. She nodded. She was never sure why, when Brin could have chosen anyone, he chose her. But he had and it had changed her life in wonderful ways. Ways she wasn't about to discuss on the way to kill an Archdemon.

"All the younger women loved him and about half the men did as well. He just had this amazing charisma. The older women treated him like their favorite child. He was ridiculously awesome, as Zev says."

"How old were you?"

"Seventeen. You know what that age is like. Always falling in love, always getting into mischief. Joseph, Brin and I spent most of that summer in trouble for one thing or another, all harmless, at least to our way of thinking, but Brin knew magic that the Chantry forbids and Wynne - the stooge - couldn't let that rest. She told the templars who decided Brin no longer needed his head. So they took it. The end."

Joss sat quietly, unwilling to say more, to remember more. "Come on, we've got a Blight to stop and I've babbled on long enough."

She stood, shaking out the folds of her robe. When she felt her emotions calming, she reached for her staff and turned to rejoin her companions. Teagan stopped her with a hand on her arm. She turned to face him.

"So you've lost two people you loved through Wynne's actions?"

Four, she thought with that kind of dull, rusty-blade type of pain that hurts way too much. And then she mentally shook her head. To be fair, Aerin Bryant had been reassigned, not lost. They had never had a chance to be more than friends with rather wonderful and creative benefits. He was, after all, a templar and she was a mage, something a very scandalized Wynne, upon finding them in the kitchens late one night, had pointed out. Loudly. And insistently. Old hag.

"Yes," she lied with a bright smile. And really, it wasn't a lie. He hadn't asked if that was all she had lost. "Now can we get back to curing your brother and dealing with that cranky Archdemon?"

"This discussion isn't over, Joss, but you're right, we need to catch up with the others. We'll talk more at camp tonight."

Lovely. Just what she wanted to do, bare her soul and have it remarked upon. The only thing more enjoyable was being tortured on the rack. Not that she actually knew that from personal experience. Or ever hoped to, for that matter.

They made camp later than usual, trying to make up lost ground. The Toad Incident, as Alistair was calling it, had slowed them down. Wynne set her tent up in its usual spot near the others. To her credit, she was trying to carry on as if nothing untoward had occurred that day. Randal and Jowan seemed intent on reminding her. They peppered her with questions. Had she felt like a toad or a human? Could she remember everything? Had she been able to think and reason? What had the fly tasted like?

The air was still filled with the kind of tension that crawled along the skin and made people look at the ground a great deal. Joss supposed if she was a better person she would apologize in front of everyone. But she wasn't a better person. She was a stubborn person. She remained silent as she prepared dinner. Wynne was still hopping mad for all that she was no longer a frog. Joss refused to acknowledge the glares aimed in her direction. She was content to let sleeping toads lie.

As they all gathered around the campfire to eat their rabbit stew, Sister Leliana of the Divine Dodos, chirped, "This stew is delicious, Josslyn."

"Thank you."

"In fact, it reminds me of something Lady Cecile's cook made for feast days."

"Oh? What was that?" Joss asked, expecting to hear some drivel about Orlesian oxtail soup or some other exotic dish.

"A soupe de grenouille."

"Pardon?"

"Frog soup," Sister Leliana Oblivious chirped cheerfully.

Joss wondered if it was possible to die from a surfeit of laughter.

******_Josslyn's spell to "detoadify" Wynne is_ _from the Latin and means: I see it, but I don't believe it._


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N:** _This chapter was written on a very bumpy plane ride home from a wonderful vacation. _  
_Thank you to all those lurking, reading and reviewing. It's great to be back home. _

**Rock of Mages**

"Zevran, I need you tonight."

Zevran's smile was both leering and infectious. "But of course, my lovely Warden. I am here to serve your every whim."

"As soon as the camp settles for the night," Joss added, returning his smile with a waggle of brows.

From somewhere behind her, in the darkness of night, came a strangled exclamation that sounded like Alistair choking. Her smile grew. "After Teagan is asleep. No need to bother him about this."

"Ah, I so enjoy these trysts of ours, my dear Josslyn."

"No more than I do, my handsome assassin."

"Am I just to watch this time or will I have a chance to participate, as well?"

Another strangled exclamation, followed by a great deal of noise in the underbrush alerted Joss to Alistair's imminent arrival. This ought to do it, she thought with a wicked grin. "You know how much I love to have you watch me," she purred.

The bushes nearby exploded as Alistair came tumbling out of them to land at her feet. Even in the faint light, his face was ablaze from the blush that stained his cheeks crimson. "Good evening Alistair. Did you want to watch as well?" Joss asked with feigned innocence.

"What? No! I – I – that is to say – you can't do that to Teagan!" the young templar exclaimed, glaring at Joss and Zevran.

Joss raised an eyebrow at that proclamation and smiled again. "Teagan understands my needs and he's been invited to join us," she replied, offering him a hand. Alistair scrabbled backwards, staring at her in horror.

"I – no!" Alistair cried, stopping his mad retreat to scrub at his eyes. "Just, no! He isn't like that!"

"Like what, my young friend? He doesn't like to watch? Ah, but I think we all enjoying watching, yes?"

"Yes, I mean no. I mean –" Alistair's protestations were cut off by Randal's deep voice.

"Halt! Who goes there?"

Josslyn snickered. Until Randal had joined them she had never heard those words spoken by anyone other than her fellow mages when putting on spoofs and skits poking fun at the templars guarding them. Joss sighed, wondering who had wandered into their camp this time. She reached down a hand once more to help Alistair to his feet. This time he accepted it, although he refused to look at her.

By now the camp was stirring as a man, a mule and an elf entered the camp. There was the start of a joke somewhere in that, Joss felt sure. The man, grey haired and finely dressed, came forward.

"Felix de Grosbois, merchant and entrepreneur, at your service."

"The countryside is swarming with darkspawn, bandits and blighted animals and you're out in the middle of nowhere trying to sell things? In the dark of night?" Joss asked, incredulous.

Was every person in Fereldan insane or just incredibly stupid? She found herself voicing the question, which was followed by a chorus of "People skills!" from various members of her party. She thought it was a fair inquiry given the circumstances.

"Normally I would argue with you, mistress, but this trip has been one miserable disaster after another. My wagon is mired and I thought I would lose its precious cargo but since you all seem able-bodied and kindly, I find my hope restored."

Lhegoless, the elf who accompanied Felix, led a small group back to the mired wagon, their way lit by the torches they carried. The merchant fawned the entire way and Josslyn was seriously considering turning him into one of the tree frogs who croaked with frenzied glee as the group stumbled along the path, no doubt laughing at Joss for getting involved with yet another crazy Fereldan.

Of course one can't 'un-mire' a wagon without becoming covered in said mire and by the time the group had pulled and pushed the wagon to dryer ground, they were covered in mud and muck. Joss was less than impressed. She glared at the merchant, wondering if the mud stains would ever come out of her robe.

"I have little else to reward you with, but please, take my rod."

Joss choked at that and shook her head. "Please, pocket your rod and let us never speak of it again," she replied, stepping back.

"It's a control rod," he said and, with a fond stroke, offered it to her. Well, sure, because everyone knew men were controlled by their rod. Joss tried desperately to erase that image. "For a golem," he added. She let out a long sigh of relief.

"A golem? As in a big pile of talking rocks invented by dwarves?" she asked, staring at the man's rather nicely shaped rod.

"Exactly, my young rescuer. It resides in Honnleath, or so I'm told, and will only become active with this control rod and the words _Klaatu Barada Nikto_. Say those words, wave the rod and you'll have your very own, one of a kind, amazing and resilient golem."

"Oh, the Divine has a hand in this, Joss. We are on our way to Honnleath, yes?" Sister Giggles and Guffaws chirped happily, oblivious to the mud that was caking her boots and leggings.

By the time they returned to camp and cleaned up, it was too late for Joss to take a walk in the Fade and talk to Petra and Niall. She had wanted to see how things were going in Kinloch Hold and Redcliffe. Instead, she shucked off her mud splattered clothes and flopped down on the bedroll next to Teagan.

"It's like having a bunch of children sometimes," she sighed, snuggling up against his warmth.

"And a mother who enjoys a rather odd sense of humor," he agreed, putting an arm around her.

"Odd? In what way odd?"

"Good night, Joss."

Sighing, Joss closed her eyes. Perhaps she did have a peculiar sense of humor but it had kept her sane for twenty-seven years, she wasn't going to abandon it now. "Just how odd is it?" she queried, propping herself up on an elbow.

"If you have to ask, my dear," Teagan began, opening one eye to look at her warily, "then perhaps I am the one with the odd sense of humor."

"Well that's a very diplomatic and very cowardly answer, milord."

"Indeed. I was taught never to insult a lady."

"I was sure we'd established that I'm not a lady."

Teagan pulled her down for a toe-curling kiss. "Having examined you quite thoroughly on several occasions, I can assure you that you are every inch a lady."

"A woman, yes. But a lady? Would a lady do this?" Joss asked with a naughty grin and nimble fingers.

"_My _lady would," came the reply from a suddenly alert and wakeful Teagan.

"I can't promise to be quiet," she warned.

"I doubt you can shock the camp any more than you did last night."

"Alistair wasn't shocked, merely curious. I heard him asking Randal for clarification."

"Really? I must speak with Alistair. It seems Eamon was remiss in several areas of his education."

"May I listen in when you do that?"

"No, you incorrigible minx, you may not."

"You really are such a conservative man," she grumbled.

"As long as we are both awake we need to talk about things," Teagan said, changing the subject and making Joss squirm. Oh boy, serious talking wherein she spills her heart and he pokes at it and tries to examine why she is the way she is.

"Now that's a control rod," she murmured, letting her hands wander freely, trying to change the subject back in its previous direction.

"Quit trying to distract me."

She bent low, letting her mouth follow her hands.

"Seriously? You want me to stop now?"

"Yes, I – Maker's breath. Later. Stop later."

_She_ was not the one who shocked the camp that night. Afterwards, she closed her eyes, drowsy and boneless as he held her. Her mind floated, relaxed and calm.

"I love you, Josslyn."

"I love you too," she responded sleepily. And froze, eyes snapping open. Maker's hind tit! She had not said that out loud. She had not. Oh yes, yes she had.

"That wasn't so difficult, was it?" Teagan asked, an edge of humor in his voice.

"You tricked me! You and your control rod," she accused.

"In what manner did I trick you?"

Well, Joss wasn't going to go into details about their lovemaking. She sat up, searching for her robes, although she had no idea where exactly she was going to go in the middle of the night.

"Why are you angry? Or is it fear? Do you think Wynne will try to sabotage this relationship as well? Why give her such power? She can't do anything to separate us."

No, but the Archdemon can, Joss thought glumly. She did not share that thought with Teagan. "She may not but I can't imagine your brother will be too happy that you are having a fling with a mage that even you consider half-mad."

"He'll have to learn to accept us. I have no intention of giving you up and this is not some fling, Josslyn. I don't tell just any woman that I love her."

From everything she had heard about Eamon, she thought his acceptance was about as likely as the Archdemon taking his ball and going home. Neither was going to happen. And while she admitted to herself that she loved Teagan, she would not admit that they had any kind of a future together.

"Can't we just celebrate the fact that we love each other?"

"Right, sorry. Shall I wake the camp and announce it?" she asked, hand on the tent flap.

"I'd probably get dressed first, but if that is what milady wishes," Teagan began but she stopped him, lips pressed firmly against his. They could unwind the knotted mess of emotions in the morning, she thought and it was the last coherent thought she had for some time.

**~~~oOo~~~**

The Happy Hikers, as Joss had mentally dubbed them, were not the only visitors to Honnleath. Darkspawn had decided to visit the town as well. As soon as Joss felt the uncomfortable pull in her blood, she commanded the others to stay put, taking only the other Wardens and Styx with her.

What had once been a charmingly rustic town was a ruined, burned out village. That was the bad news. The good news was the inn looked intact and probably had vacancies. Joss doubted any surviving townspeople would consider that a boon, however. They cleared out several clusters of darkspawn and then she stopped mid-cast to stare at a pile of rocks in the middle of town; a slate grey pile of stones with arms raised to the sky. A sight one did not see every day.

The hurlock she had been casting on took advantage of her distracted state and knocked her to the ground, axe raised. A pain in her left hip flared and blossomed. She struggled to rise, or at least roll out of the way and then Joss felt the flow of magic around her as Jowan temporarily shielded her and she was scrambling to her feet. Anger fueling her spell, the hurlock went flying in several directions and Joss moved on to the next.

After they cleared the town of darkspawn, Joss removed the control rod from her pack and went to stand before the pile of rocks that towered over the town square. She held it out and said, "Klaatu. Barada. Nikto."

Naturally nothing happened. After several tries, in which the statue, arms raised to the heavens, stood silently reaching for Maker knew what, Joss placed the rod back in her pack and stomped off in search of survivors. Tricked by a merchant. She might as well have asked for magical beans.

They found a group of survivors in the basement of a once nicely appointed home. An apostate, looking remarkably like the pictures she'd seen of King Maric, had two dozen townspeople protected behind a kinetic barrier of a type she was unfamiliar with. He was so happy to be rescued he immediately asked a favor of them. As if nobody had ever done that before, Joss thought sourly.

"I'll tell you how to activate that golem as soon as Amalia is safely back here," he promised.

"You're a mage, surely you can do that yourself?"

"My father put all manner of traps between this room and his laboratory to prevent anyone from coming to harm."

"Well how hard can the traps be if a young girl managed to figure them out?" Joss asked, hands on her hips.

"Please, I'll do whatever you ask of me if you'll just find her."

"You sure? I can think of all kinds of things to ask for."

The man, Matthias, looked faintly taken aback by her statement. "Within reason, of course."

"Bah, always a caveat of some kind. Fine, fine. Send someone back to the town's gates to let the others know the way is clear. And is the innkeeper hanging around somewhere?"

She winced as soon as the words left her mouth. As was their custom, for reasons only they understood, the darkspawn had hung a fair number of townspeople. She had counted at least a dozen on their way into town. Hopefully the innkeeper wasn't among those poor sods. She really needed to work on her tact. Or at least develop some semblance of it. "Er, so to speak," she added hastily.

"I am. Rooms for the lot of you when you've finished your task."

A task? A task was cleaning the kitchen after cooking or making a bed after rising. Perhaps going to market and buying produce. A task was not working their way through a series of traps laid by a mage to search for a young girl who may or may not be dead. That was more than a task.

The traps were not all that difficult although the use of Shades and other demonic devices wasn't particularly reassuring. Alistair received a rather nasty black eye when one such Shade rose up in front of him and slammed Alistair's shield into his face. The Shade, prone to pranks and pudginess, proved to be a pain to kill. It was only through Cathair's stubbornness that they finally destroyed it before moving farther into laboratory.

Amalia was a pretty young girl, with blonde pigtails and large, slightly mesmerized eyes. Wonderful. "Possessed?"

Jowan frowned and shook his head. "A desire demon in the cat, I think. Maybe Amalia is ensorcelled?"

"Yay, demons. No day is complete without them."

"I'll distract Amalia, you talk to the cat."

"Fine," Joss said, rolling up her sleeves. "You, Demon Cat! Let's get down to it, shall we? I assume you want the usual thing; freedom to see the world through a human's eyes?"

"Indeed," the cat replied, delighted.

"Well, that's not going to…Styx! Wait!" Joss yelled in horror as Styx, growling low and deep, lunged at the cat.

Joss covered her eyes, peeking out between fingers and shuddering as Styx made mincemeat of the cat. Amalia cried out in horror and ran off, back the way they had come. Styx barked happily. The others were standing around wearing various expressions of horror and fascination.

"Well, one dead demon and one traumatized child. Our work here is done," Joss remarked to no one in particular and trudged back to find Matthias and Amalie enjoying a happy reunion.

After thanking her profusely, Matthias said, "The phrase to activate the golem is _e plurabis unum_."

"Well sure, I can understand how one could confuse _Klaatu Barada Nikto _with_ e plurabis unum_."

"My mother must have given the merchant the wrong code on purpose. That golem killed my father. She was justifiably angry."

"Your father was a mage, I take it?"

"Wilhelm, mage to King Maric during the rebellion."

"You realize your daughter is probably a mage too, right? I mean, that's how the demon was able to lure her into the laboratory."

The man's face stilled. "And what do you plan to do about it? Report her to the templars?"

"Not during a blight, no. I suggest you start training her in the same way your father trained you before a desire demon is the least of your worries."

Matthias turned to leave, an arm around his daughter, who was still glaring at Styx. Joss didn't blame her and she found herself wondering just what was going on with her faithful companion. He hadn't responded to her order to stop and he now wore a rather smug expression on his doggy face.

"Say, Matthias, any idea what the phrase means?"

"Out of many, one."

Jowan gave a loud roar of laughter at that. "Out of many pebbles, one stone golem. Clever."

"Sure, in a crazy kind of way. Let's go see if this thing is worth all the trouble it's already given us."

Now that the darkspawn were gone, birds were circling around the stone golem and Joss waved her hands, sending them scattering. Once again taking the control rod out of her pack, she intoned, with great seriousness, "_E plurabis unum_."

A loud crack, followed by a series of smaller creaks, filled the air as the golem's arms began to stretch and move. The group, as one, took a large step backwards and Joss felt a frisson of fear. It was probably not the most intelligent thing she'd ever done, activating a large stone golem that they may or may not be able to control, but it was too late to go back and undo it. Especially as she hadn't bothered to ask if there was a phrase to put it back to sleep.

"Freed at last and by a mage. My luck hasn't changed in the past thirty years. It is a mage, isn't It?"

Joss frowned. "You're a pile of rock and you're calling me 'It'? That's just wrong."

"I may be a pile of rock, but It is a pile of flesh and bone and therefore very squishy."

"Oh, good point, Rocky."

The golem's stone brow rose and a delicate shudder passed through it. "Rocky? I have a name. I suggest It uses it."

"Oh. Sure. What's your name?"

"Shale."

Joss burst out laughing. "Shale? Is that a joke? Did your creators not recognize granite when they saw it? Of course Shale has a certain ring to it, whereas Granite just sounds heavy."

"It takes a perverse pleasure in life, doesn't It?" the golem asked with a resigned sigh.

Joss smiled. "It believes life is perverse and It merely acknowledges Its belief. What do you believe?"

"I believe that all birds should die."

"Alrighty then. This is going to be interesting."

"Undoubtedly. Now, command me. It holds the control rod."

"Command you?"

"Yes. Order me to do something."

"Hmmm. Hop on one foot and sing a song."

"It is not serious."

"It most certainly is."

"Then I can only feel what must be relief as I have no desire to obey Its order."

"Uh oh." Joss took another step back, her companions following suit.

"Still, after standing in the same spot for thirty years, I do not intend to stay here a moment longer."

"Where do you intend on going?"

"Certainly not in this village as I see not all the villagers are dead. That is a shame."

"Yeah, I'm sure they agree."

"It continues to be oddly perverse."

"If you're traveling with us, you'll get used to it. Right, Alistair?"

"Some of us are still trying to get used to it," he muttered, continuing to stare at the golem with wide eyes.

"You know, I thought golems would be taller, somehow, and speak with a booming voice. You're kind of short and sarcastic," Cathair remarked.

"But strong looking," Jowan added quickly. He was still pale. And cowering. Joss smacked his shoulder and he straightened up to his full height, which was still shorter than the slab of granite in front of them.

"Have all your masters been mages?" Randal asked. "I mean, hasn't a soldier ever commanded you?"

"I have no idea. I've lived a very long time and the past one hundred years have alternated between boring and aggravating. Anything before that is a mystery. Why? Does the soldier wish to try and command me?"

"No! No, no, I'm just curious."

Joss, who had been studying the stone creature, frowned. "You appear to have a rather large chip on your shoulder."

"It that another feeble attempt at humor?" Shale asked and if a golem could roll its eyes, Joss was fairly certain it was at that moment.

"No, I'm serious. You have a chip in your right shou – ewww. Never mind. That's not a chip," she finished, grimacing in disgust. "You need a bath."

"Perhaps now It understands my intense dislike of birds?"

The others finally arrived and silence settled over them as they stared at the talking statue. Finally Shale shrugged stone shoulders. "I suppose my options are to strike out on my own or follow you. As I have no idea where I would go, I suppose I shall follow you for the time being."

"Just please be careful. One wrong step and someone will be crushed."

"So tell me, my fine stone friend. Do you consider yourself male or female?"

"'Tis a rare magic that created you."

"Maker's breath, Josslyn, you have the strangest friends."

"Shale, Shale, the gang's all here," Sister Leliana of the Divinely Demented cooed.


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N:** _Teagan owns this chapter.  
Thank you lisakodysam for the awesome betaness that is you!  
_

**Sex, Lies and Purple Grapes**

Honnleath's inn, The Rusty Bucket, boasted a bathhouse and five guestrooms. To Teagan's relief, Josslyn commandeered the largest guestroom and, for the first night since leaving Denerim, he was able to sleep on clean sheets and a soft mattress. That he was able to hold Josslyn in his arms all night added to the pleasure.

He woke early, refreshed and prepared for another day of Maker only knew what. He had learned very quickly that Josslyn was unpredictable and therefore their days on the road were equally so. He found he enjoyed it, although there were times when he wondered if he had finally lost his sanity. Loving Josslyn was easy; living with her, however, was not a walk in the park. But, then again, he had always found parks to be too tame for his liking. He rose and began to dress.

He glanced over his shoulder, surprised to see Joss sitting up in bed with the sheets twisted around her waist. She looked like some fey creature, unearthly and wild. Her bright chestnut hair was in disarray and her eyes, as darkly green and brown as a forest, were filled with mirth. She sat cross-legged on the bed and her hands were folded in her lap. She was completely unashamed of her nudity, making no apology for who she was.

Maker, he loved her and it surprised him how deeply the emotion went, touching the parts of him he had always held in reserve. How had she done it? She was everything he had been warned not to want, everything he had told himself he _shouldn't _want. And yet here she was, ensconced in his life as if she had always been there.

He winked at her and she winked back, her smile growing. "You do realize that I'm only going to strip all those clothes off you again, right?"

He raised a brow. "Is today a holiday?"

"You don't think we've earned a day off after all our travails?" she asked, a dramatic hand to her brow.

"Hmm, now what would our leader say in response to such a question? Oh, yes," he began and then paused, clearing his throat and striking a pose. "What? You think the Archdemon is taking a holiday? Sitting around his den eating bonbons?" he asked in a high, sarcastic voice.

She flew out of bed and launched herself at him. He caught her up in his arms, laughing. "Ah, it seems I have finally discovered the secret to getting you out of bed and moving."

"I do _not_ sound like that. And besides, everyone knows the Archdemon prefers strawberry tarts to bonbons."

"I beg your pardon, milady," he said before her lips made it impossible to speak.

"Milady? He says that with a straight face while I'm naked and throwing myself at him," she remarked once the kiss ended. He was quite happy to hear how breathless she sounded. And he was too busy tasting the soft warmth of her neck to reply.

He really should be used to it but the knock on the door made him long for time and privacy. He was determined, once the Blight was over, to take Joss away for a week of uninterrupted time. Time when they could talk without interruption. Time when they could kiss without interruption. Just some bloody time alone, damn it.

Joss broke away from him and dived under the covers before yelling, "Come in and it better be important!"

"Good morning my lovely Warden. Bann Teagan, you appear very happy to see me," Zev added with a knowing smirk, his eyes focused so intently on a certain part of Teagan's anatomy that he felt a blush was imminent.

"It is not _you_ I am happy to see," Teagan assured him, arms folded, eyebrow arched.

"Zev, I'm quite sure you aren't here to flirt. Hmmm, or perhaps you are but you needn't bother. What's up?"

Zev smirked, folding his arms across his chest, his eyes once more on Teagan. "Do not deliver such a line and expect me to ignore it, _cara mia_."

"There isn't a line in all of Thedas that doesn't have some hidden meaning for you, assassin."

Joss was trying to put her robes on under the covers and Teagan watched intently. As did the elf, a feral and seductive grin on his face. While Teagan had learned to ignore most of Zevran's innuendo and blatant sexuality, he was not about to stand around while Zevran flirted outrageously with Josslyn.

"What it is that couldn't wait five minutes ago but now seems unimportant?" Teagan asked, surprising even himself with the sarcastic tone of his voice.

"Tsk, tsk, my handsome noble, can a man not appreciate such a beautiful woman?"

"No, you cannot. Not when _her_ man is standing right here."

Maker's breath, he sounded like a jealous husband. Joss was staring at him in surprise and anger. She was angry? He pressed his fingers to his temples. Of course she was angry. He didn't own her. She wasn't a possession, for Maker's sake.

"Before Teagan comes completely undone, what is it you want, Zev?"

"You asked me to report any odd behavior among our companions and I have noticed that our red-headed lay sister is behaving very oddly."

"You mean more than usual?" Joss asked, wrapping the sheet around her and standing. "How odd is odd?"

Apparently she had given up trying to dress beneath the sheets and Teagan felt a moment's disappointment. Her efforts had provided him with glimpses of her lithe grace he had hitherto not seen from afar. On the road, she tended to be clumsy and awkward, which he found endearing. He wondered, very briefly, if that wasn't another of her acts, subterfuge to keep people from getting too close.

Zevran gave a throaty chuckle that made Teagan's nerves twitch but he held his tongue. Joss was gathering her robes and undergarments. Stepping behind a screen, she tossed the sheet over it and both men took a moment to appreciate the lithe woman whose curvaceous form was visible. He really ought to tell her that placing a screen in front of a window was not the best way to maintain privacy. He shot a glare at Zev, who winked boldly at him.

"She is discussing lamppost licking with our sweet young templar. I am afraid Alistair may have a fit and hurt himself."

"Lamppost licking? What's that supposed to mean?"

"I believe it is akin to throwing a log on the fire? Dipping one's wick?" Zev answered helpfully.

"What in the name of the Maker's balls are you babbling about?"

"Spearing the clam? The Horizontal Remigold?" he added, ticking them off on his fingers.

"Wait, how many of these euphemisms do you know?" Teagan broke in, frowning. Were they going to stand there all day while Zev went through his entire repertoire?

"Hmm, I have never counted. Shall I recite them and have you count them off?"

"No! Maker's pointy beard, don't do that. Are you trying to tell me those all mean the same thing?" Joss answered for him, poking her head over the screen, a grin dancing across her face.

"Ah, I have barely started, my divine goddess. Shall I continue?"

Joss glanced at Teagan. He shook his head slightly. She sighed, looking acutely disappointed, before she disappeared behind the screen again.

"I suppose I'd better go find him and have a talk." A talk he was not looking forward to. However, if Alistair was referring to sex as lampposts it was time. Or well past time, actually. It seemed as though Eamon had taught Alistair very little, if anything, over the years.

"So it would seem. But why is Sister Fluffy Bunny even asking about that? Hmmm, do you suppose she's still a _lay_ sister?" Joss asked with a grin and artfully raised brows.

"A bride of many Makers?"

"A lady of easy virtues?"

"A strumpet."

"Hmm, I always think people mean trumpet when I hear that term. You know, because they like to blow a man's horn," Joss giggled. Teagan looked down at the floor, trying not to groan and laugh at the same time. His life was certainly never going to be dull with her in it.

"Perhaps she is merely curious about our young templar? Or does she want him to dip his stinger in her honey?"

Teagan finally gave in to the groan that tickled his throat. This could go on all day. And probably would, knowing the two of them.

"Put his bee in her hive? Put his tool in her shed?" Zev continued, oblivious to Teagan's growing impatience.

Laughter shook Joss. It took her a minute to regain control and Teagan watched her, thinking she looked wicked and wanton and if Zev hadn't been there, he'd have taken her back to bed immediately.

"On a number of occasions I've remarked that Leliana is not the sharpest tool in the shed but, given that context, I don't think I'll be doing that again," Joss finally managed around yet another peal of laughter.

"Perhaps I should speak to him about dipping his quill in the inkpot?"

Maker's breath, now _he_ was doing it. He glared at Zev, who gave him a knowing smile before his golden eyes focused on Teagan's quill. Teagan felt the heat of a blush and he shook his head, thinking that a quick jab in the eye would wipe the smirk off Zevran's face quickly enough. And yet, Teagan actually liked him. Usually. Now not being one of those times.

"Perhaps you should just discuss polishing his cane?" the assassin asked helpfully.

"Oh, I think I want to sit in on this talk. It's already been highly educational and you haven't even started talking to Alistair yet."

"While you might find it entertaining, I doubt that Alistair would, my dear. Perhaps we can just discuss all those euphemisms tonight when we are alone? We will be alone, won't we, Zevran," he stated, the warning obvious. He was not reassured by Josslyn, who cleared her throat and looked at a point on the wall just over his right shoulder.

"About that, Teagan, I wanted to sleep with Zevran tonight."

"Pardon?"

Zevran gave a throaty chuckle. "Ah, your expression is priceless, my handsome bann."

"And _your_ expression is about to change," Teagan threatened. He took a deep breath, hands curling into fists. He took another deep breath, aiming for calm and cool. He was a noble, not some common street thug and as much as he might want to knock the smile off of the elf's face, he wasn't going to do it. He had already done it once, back in Denerim. Remembering how that had made him feel, he slowly uncurled his fists.

"Teagan, we've talked about this before. I don't want to put you in that kind of position when there are so many others I prefer to see you in. If you know what I mean."

He did, in fact, know what she meant and he thought her concern for him was as surprising as it was sweet, a sentiment one did not normally associate with Josslyn, he'd discovered. Still, he wasn't thrilled with the idea of Zevran watching her sleep. While he didn't really want to kill her should she come back from her trip into the fade as an abomination, neither did he want to be sleeping soundly in a different room if that became necessary. He would prefer she just slept like everyone else and left the Fade walking to others. That wasn't about to happen, knowing her.

"Perhaps a threesome is in order. If you know what I mean."

He sighed in resignation. It seemed it didn't matter where the conversation began; it all ended up in the same place.

"If you think you can handle it," Joss commented and then gave him a saucy wink. "If you know what I mean."

Zevran was, by now, laughing outright. Teagan thought it was time for a tactical retreat. Joss, as if understanding that, wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned up for a kiss.

"You aren't jealous are you, Teagan?" she murmured against his neck.

"No," he lied.

He understood Zev and Joss shared a bond; that Zev was more than just a walking innuendo. He appreciated that Zev was quick to assess and advise on a situation, that he understood people and their motivations and shared that insight. He knew that Zev was highly protective of Joss. He just didn't like having him watch Joss sleep. He was, in fact, jealous at times. He would be damned if he'd admit that out loud, though.

"A threesome it is," he finally agreed and left the two of them discussing euphemisms, Josslyn's laughter still ringing in his ears, her kiss still warm on his lips.

Entering the dining room, a small and cozy area with leaded windows and polished tables, he made his way overto Alistair and sat across from him. Alistair was just finishing his breakfast and his cheeks still held a fair amount of pink in them. Nobody else was in the room and Teagan was grateful for that small mercy.

"I think we should have a talk," he began without preamble. Best to plunge right into it. Why did that thought make him want to add: _if you know what I mean_? Maker's breath, he was as bad as Zevran.

"Sure, Teagan, what do you want to talk about?"

"The birds and the bees."

"Huh?"

"The flowers and the trees."

Alistair, looking baffled and a bit worried, began to eat the last of his toast, waiting for Teagan to continue. Euphemisms were obviously not going to work. He would have to take the direct approach. That conjured up more phrases and he resolutely pushed them aside. He shook his head, mildly disgusted with himself and began again. "We need to talk about sex, Alistair."

If it was possible to die from blushing, he was sure Alistair would do so. "I – I – that is to say – I – uh - appreciate the offer - and you've always been a good friend, Teagan – but – I – that is to say – as flattered as – uh - no."

Somewhere deep inside, where it couldn't be heard by anyone else, Teagan sighed. It was the elf's fault. All that innuendo earlier made his mind refuse to take the talk seriously. He tried again.

"You do know where babies…"

"Andraste's flaming sword! I know where babies come from!" Alistair yelped indignantly. His blush grew bright enough to light up the room with a red glow.

"Are you quite sure, Alistair? It seems you have a great deal of trouble talking about intimacy and I would hate for you to stable your stallion in the wrong stall, if you know what I mean." Gah, where had that come from? His sigh became audible.

Alistair, looking perplexed, scratched his head. "We don't have any horses here, Teagan."

"No, no. I mean that – "Teagan trailed off. What _did_ he mean? He'd completely lost track of his well-ordered thoughts.

"Is this because of that stupid conversation with Leliana?" Alistair finally asked.

"In part, yes. But it seems that you have no experience with…are you a virgin?"

Alistair made a strangled sound and for a minute Teagan was sure the young man would choke to death. Teagan felt a flash of sympathy for him but he had set his mind on his task and he wouldn't stop just because Alistair was embarrassed.

"Maker's breath, Teagan. What business is that of yours? Can't a man's privates…private life stay private?"

"It's a perfectly natural act between a man and a woman. That is assuming your preference is women. If not, it isn't a mortal sin to prefer men. Whichever one you prefer, sex is –"

"Stop! Just stop! If you say that word one more time, I'm going to leave!"

"Alistair, this will be much easier if you just relax and listen."

"La la la, not listening!" Alistair said loudly, covering his ears and rocking back and forth in time to his sing-song litany.

"Can you at least explain to me why Leliana would talk to you about s – e - x?" Teagan asked, feeling twelve years old as he spelled out the word.

Alistair dropped his hands to his lap and fell silent. With more patience than could be expected of any mortal, Teagan waited for him to speak.

"She saw me looking at the girl. Well, woman, really, and she asked me about – you know, the sex thing – and I didn't know how to answer her properly because we were taught in the monastery to be considerate and not speak of those kinds of things – and she was – but then I – it doesn't really matter except I really felt something – but she's a noble and I'm just a Warden – and then Leliana said that –"

"Andraste's grace, Alistair, take a breath," Teagan broke in, genuinely concerned for the young man.

Alistair took a deep breath and then shook his head. "Just because I don't go spouting off about – well, you know – doesn't mean I don't know the facts of life."

"You can't possibly imagine how grateful I am to learn that. Now who did you see that made you talk about lampposts? One of the local girls?"

"No. No, no, she came in with her brother late last night. You and Joss were already in bed and doing whatever it is that you do – I don't want to know, please don't tell me – and Wynne gave them her room and she's been working on them ever since."

Teagan frowned, foreboding running around in him like a little boy lost. Did Wynne have a death wish? Surely she understood that Joss was in charge?

"What do you mean? Who are these people?"

"Ferdinand and Isabella Highland? Cousover? Something like that."

"Why didn't Wynne say anything? Holy Maker, show me which room is Wynne's!" he barked, pushing his chair back from the table.

Urgency tickled along his thoughts, pushing his blood through his veins and into his heart more quickly. Wynne doing anything without Josslyn's permission was just asking for another transmogrification, at the very least. Death was entirely possible. His as well if his hunch was right. He took the stairs two at a time, breathless by the time they reached a room at the opposite end of the corridor from the room he shared with Joss. He didn't bother knocking.

Wynne was sitting on the edge of a large feather bed, her hand resting on a man's forehead. She shot Teagan and Alistair a fierce frown. She looked old and haggard in the unflattering sunlight streaming in through the window. He crept forward, a feeling of dread now mixing in with his sense of foreboding.

Teagan looked around the room and saw a young woman sitting quietly in a chair, her short brown hair matted and stiff, her face serene as she dozed. He knew, without a doubt, that her eyes would be cornflower blue when they opened and that her voice would be the sweet dulcet tones of honey and cream. He felt the earth shift and move under his feet and for a moment he had the sensation of standing in quicksand.

Wynne motioned them out of the room and followed, closing the door with a soft click. "What is the meaning of this?" she hissed, arms folded and looking like an avenging grandmother.

Teagan wondered briefly what it felt like to become a toad and thought about asking Wynne but at that moment he seemed to have misplaced his voice. And then it was too late.

"Teagan, you're as white as a sheet. Was your s – e – x talk with Alistair that bad?" Joss asked as she approached them, her voice vibrating with humor.

"I – that is – it – we…" Teagan trailed off. He had never felt the kind of panic he now felt and if he could go back in time he would. Or forward. Forward would be good. But the present was full of traps and he knew he was about to step in one. A mistake. A simple, ordinary mistake and he was, if lucky, going to become a frog. If he wasn't… he shuddered. He didn't even want to think about it.

Joss laughed again. "Teagan, you've obviously spent too much time with Alistair. What's the matter with you?"

Nobody had ever claimed Josslyn Amell was stupid. She glanced from Wynne to Teagan and then back again. "Someone please say something intelligent."

Wynne opened her mouth but Teagan shook his head. Violently. Wynne frowned and fell silent, which he was grateful for. Or would be if he lived long enough to express it.

"My dear, I believe we need to talk. In private. Now."

"If it's to tell me that Fergus and Elissa Cousland arrived here last night, don't bother. Zev mentioned it. Apparently they've been on the run since their scouting party was attacked in the Korcari Wilds."

"Zev mentioned it after I left? He didn't think I needed to know?" Teagan asked. Anger now mixed with his growing apprehension.

"Why would he? Is there something I need to know about them?"

Teagan considered lying. He considered it and discarded it. He thought it was entirely too late for a lie. Or the truth. But if it was, he would at least go out with honesty on his lips and not a lie.

He took her arm and propelled her down the hall to their room so quickly that she didn't have time to protest, although he could see she wanted to. He shut the door behind them and then leaned against it.

"Wow, there isn't anything scary about your behavior. At. All. Oh wait! Yes there is."

"I should have mentioned this sooner but things have happened so quickly and…" he trailed off and then gave her a smile that must have been grim because he saw a flash of pity in her expression before it flitted away.

Two thoughts occurred to him as he braced himself for the inevitable storm that would break once he told her what he should have told her that first night in the rose garden at Redcliffe. One was that the storm might be more than a metaphor; it might be an actual storm with lightning, probably aimed at him. The other was that he might actually have to use his recent templar training and he wasn't at all sure that he wanted to do that but was afraid he would be forced to.

In the way that a condemned man notices small and inconsequential things, he noticed that their breakfast had been delivered and the tray was on a table near Joss. A large earthen jug sat on the tray, as well as a loaf of bread, a block of cheese and a large bunch of purple grapes. He realized with a start that he was actually hungry and wondered if, as the condemned man, he might not eat a hearty meal before he was transmogrified or burnt to a crisp.

"Is this the part where you finally dump me? Give me the brush off because I'm not right for you?" Joss asked. He was surprised at how reasonable she sounded, how calm. "The good news is you'll remain to help us find the urn but the bad news is you're done with the madness?"

"Josslyn Amell, I love you. I'm not about to let you go, damn it." Even he had no trouble hearing the exasperation in his voice. Wonderful. He was antagonizing the very woman he needed to reassure.

She perched on the edge of the bed and looked at him, waiting. He looked again at their breakfast. Noticing his gaze, she picked up the plate of bread and cheese, handing it to him.

"I assume you can eat and talk at the same time." She popped a grape into her mouth. He chewed on a hunk of bread and waited until they had both swallowed to continue.

"I know Elissa Cousland. In fact, her father and Eamon were arranging a marriage between families just before the Blight began."

"Really? Isn't Connor a bit young to be married to her? I believe she is nineteen and Connor isn't even thirteen, is he?"

Was she baiting him? Her eyes were wide and guileless. She was obviously baiting him. Was that good or bad? He wasn't sure and it didn't matter. She deserved the truth. Had he not been so caught up in all the changes in his life over the past few months, he'd have told her right away. He had forgotten the arrangements that had been made for him, in the urgency of the attacks on Redcliffe and the subsequent events.

She popped another grape into her mouth and nodded encouragingly. He found he was no longer hungry and he set the bread and cheese aside.

"As I believe you have already guessed, I was the intended bridegroom."

Silence fell like a heavy blanket. She stared at him and he tensed, waiting for the storm, the toadifying, something besides the absolute quiet. Even in her sleep, she was rarely so still and silent. Teagan Guerrin was no coward but he would defy anyone who knew Joss not to be concerned about her temper. He cleared his throat. She blinked and stared at him, a wicked smile coming to rest on her lips. His stomach sank.

Of all the possible outcomes he'd considered, being pelted with purple grapes from a laughing Joss was not even on the list. At. All.


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: **_Icey-Cold, Gene Dark and I co-wrote a story recently for the Bioware Bang. It's the story of the founding of the Grey Wardens entitled **The Grey Tales**. You can find a link to it in my profile or search for Genespira Cold on ff. We hope you check it out!  
__Thank you, Lisa, for the awesome beta'ing.  
Thank you to all those reading and those reviewing. _

**Fade Runner  
Or  
Do Mages Dream of Templar Sheep?**

Joss watched as the last grape went spinning through the air, seemingly in slow motion, in all its purple glory. With a soft _ping_ it bounced off Teagan's nose and hit the ground where it rolled to a menacing stop near the toe of his left boot. Beware the purple grape, she thought as another burst of laughter shook her.

Once she'd stifled her laughter, and it was no easy task, she stepped closer to Teagan. With her hands folded in front of her, she wondered what, in the name of the Maker's shiny ass, she was supposed to say. He was betrothed. To a noble. A good looking noble at that, from the sound of it. And wealthy. And well placed. And not a mage. In other words, everything Joss was not. It figured. And sadly, she wasn't all that angry. And not all that surprised. But hurt? Oh, that was entirely different. Hurt she had in abundance. She'd be damned if he would ever know.

Teagan took a tentative step toward her and she held up a panicked hand but it was too late. The grape met a cruel and messy death under the heel of his well-made brown leather boot. She snickered. He paused. They both looked down at the dead grape. Joss bowed her head.

"Am I to be the toad today? If so, get it over with," Teagan commanded, his voice equal parts apprehension and resignation.

As tempting as that was, Joss ignored his command. "It occurs to me, and I know I'm not really up to speed on Chantry canonical law regarding the matter, that being married to two different women at the same time might, in point of fact, violate at least one of those laws. Although, given that the Bride of the Maker was married to Maferath at the same time, there appears to be some wiggle room in the law."

Quite pleased with her perfectly reasonable observation, Joss preened a bit, rocking up on the balls of her feet and back on the heels again. Nice, calm, steady. No trace of the little girl in her who was rocking in a corner, sucking her thumb and twirling her hair, wondering why she was all alone in the big bad world. She smiled at Teagan and was rewarded with a wary smile in reply.

"Josslyn, there was nothing officially announced. I –" Teagan began but Joss waved an airy hand.

"Official or not, you're an honorable man. Your duty is clear."

"Maker's breath, Josslyn! Did I not just say I love you and won't let you go?" he demanded, his good grace and humor going the way of the grape.

Joss blinked. He had. But when had nobles ever kept their word? Still, she wasn't completely unreasonable. And she hadn't been completely honest with him either so it wasn't as if she should be casting stones. Or grapes, come to think of it. She waited silently for him to say more.

"I love you, dear lady. It's you I want to marry. Fergus and Elissa will just have to accept that whatever arrangements were made before the Blight are no longer valid."

"Yes, because all nobles are reasonable and understanding. Besides, everyone knows Blights beat betrothals."

Teagan's blue eyes widened and he chuckled. "Exactly so, my love."

Well if that wasn't the most unfair tactic ever devised by a man, she didn't know what was. Love words in a deep and husky voice that did all kinds of wicked things to her insides. Very softly, leaning very close to Teagan, she said, "Just answer one question and I'll consider the matter over."

Teagan's breath fanned against her cheeks. "What question would that be, milady?"

"Are you going to forget you're betrothed to me?"

He moved his lips across her cheek and up to her ear. "As much as you try to push me away, Josslyn, I am yours. You need to accept that."

"But she's well connected."

"Yes, but she isn't you."

"She's a noble and probably has the people skills everyone loves to remind me that I don't have."

"Yes, but she isn't you."

Joss sighed and tried again. "She's wealthy."

Maddeningly, he replied, "Yes, but she isn't you."

Stubbornly, she refused to concede the argument. "She's young and innocent."

Just as stubbornly, Teagan replied, "Yes, but she isn't you."

"She's beautiful and virginal and would look gorgeous on your arm."

"Well you have a point there, my dear."

Joss's lower lip trembled at that and she began to laugh again_,_ relieved that the edge of hysteria was no longer present. "I hate how much I love you. It's impossible to stay mad at you."

Teagan swept her into his arms and bent her backwards, lavishing kisses along her neck and up to her jaw, across to her lips. She let a hand slide down the length of his chest, unlacing the leather ties of his shirt before feathering a hand along his well-toned chest and down, down. His breathing became ragged. She curled her fingers around the prize she sought and he growled.

"Are you hungry?" she whispered, voice low and throaty.

"Always, milady."

"Good, here's a grape," she responded briskly, straightening and holding out the prize she had found clinging desperately to the material of his shirt where it was tucked into his waistband.

Without missing a beat, Teagan's lips and teeth took the outstretched grape and then he proceeded to show her what he was truly hungry for. Joss found she didn't mind. At. All.

Two hours later, having rescued any and all grapes worth saving, Joss made her way downstairs. All but Shale and Wynne were gathered in the taproom, most of them whispering amongst themselves. As soon as Joss stepped into the room, they all fell silent, turning apprehensive stares her way. Except Zevran, who continued playing with his daggers.

Finally, Alistair asked in a timorous voice, "Is – is Teagan…" he trailed off.

Joss lowered her head and shook it gravely. "May he rest in peace."

"Holy Maker," Sister Leliana of the Perpetual Fog whispered, blue eyes wide.

A babble rose then as everyone spoke at once. Joss held a hand up and said as sternly as she could manage, "I mean it. He's to rest. The poor man is exhausted."

Without giving them time to groan or grumble or ask for details, or for Alistair to blush when he finally caught the meaning, Joss spoke again.

"We'll be leaving early tomorrow morning. In the meantime, I want to make sure the town has adequate defenses. Zevran, please take the Wardens and secure the perimeter. Find as many of the remaining villagers as you can. Show them how to protect themselves. Work with them. Closely, but not so closely that there will be outraged fathers running us out of town on rails or at the end of pitchforks."

"As you desire, my dear Warden," Zev agreed and Joss tried not to puff her chest out at the approval in his voice.

"And stop staring at me like I've grown a second head. Oh dear Maker, I haven't, have I?" she asked, snickering as they all dropped their eyes and shuffled their feet. What? She couldn't have a sensible idea once in a while?

"Oh, and Alistair, I want a word with you before you go."

Alistair's expression registered shock and trepidation. Poor dear. Joss felt a brief flare of pity. She went to him and slipped her arm around his waist. "Nothing to fear, Second."

"Oh, right. Second in Command. That's me. I know so much about being a leader of men," he said with a bite of sarcasm thrown into his voice.

Joss chuckled, squeezing his waist before moving to a table and settling herself. Alistair, looking as vulnerable and anxious as an orphaned puppy, sat down across from her.

"It isn't as if I know anything about being a commander, Alistair. We're doing alright. Or at least not terrible. Can't ask for better than that."

"You can ask, it just won't do any good," Alistair agreed more cheerfully.

"I am going into the Fade tonight. You know what that means. If the worst happens, you'll be in charge."

"What? No! No, no, no. I can barely manage being the Second!"

"You're doing fine as the Second. Well, except for your odd notions of s – e – x. But otherwise you're a natural. It's probably something in your blood. I'm really proud of you."

"It's alright, Joss, you don't have to stroke my ego…rub my head…" he trailed off, blushing so profusely Joss wondered if he would spontaneously combust.

"If the worst happens," she began again, trying her best to curtail her impulse to tease him and finally succeeding, "I want you to continue on to Haven, find that damned urn and send it back to Redcliffe with Teagan. Tell him to expect the armies to begin gathering at the castle.

"From there go to Orzammar and use the treaty. Send Zev and Sister Half-Baked to Jader in search of other Wardens. Duncan's notes said that was the closest Warden base to Ferelden. Zev and Lay Sister Loopy should be able to cross the border into Orlais without arousing any suspicion. Send a note with them with a few drops of your blood on it so the Orlesian Wardens know it came from a real Warden. Or use Jowan's blood. He's a blood mage and shouldn't mind donating for the cause.

"Once the armies are gathered, listen to Teagan, not Arl Eamon. Teagan has the trust of the Bannorn, as well as the Couslands, and will know what to do about the civil war and the Ice Queen. Don't let anyone talk you into anything you don't want to do."

Alistair stared at her and she reached across the table and gently closed his mouth for him. "I know, I know. Who's this person and what have you done with Joss?" she asked, mimicking his voice very badly.

A boyish grin lit up his face. "My thoughts exactly, but I like this new Joss. I mean, if you can be serious and make such sound decisions, there's hope even for me." His grin faltered but Joss merely rolled her eyes.

"You sure know your way around a compliment. Way around it, like on the other side of the road from it," she remarked dryly.

"It's a gift, really."

Joss stood to leave but Alistair, looking only slightly apologetic asked, "Can I ask a question, Joss?"

"Sure, as long as it isn't about s – e – x."

"I hate you."

"That's not a question, Alistair."

"What do mages dream about when they're in the Fade? I mean, we heard rumors in the monastery and I just wondered if they were true."

"Rumors? In a monastery? How extraordinary. Was there something specific you wanted to know about my dreams? Something based on these rumors?"

Alistair's glance slid to the top of the table to study his hands, which were folded neatly. "Is it true that mages dream of templar sheep?"

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you," Joss deadpanned. She was still grinning as she went in search of The Rock. Shale was standing under the eaves of the inn, still as a statue.

"Well, fancy meeting you here," she said cheerfully.

"It speaks. How fortunate for me." Was it possible for a pile of rock to roll their agate eyes? Seemed so. And she'd never heard a voice dripping with such sarcasm before. She liked it.

"Good morning, Shale. Still determined not to let anything get under your skin?"

"Its sense of humor is largely undeveloped."

"I'm just trying to tickle your funny bone."

"It has a long way to go."

"Fine, fine. I actually came to warn you that Morrigan is a shapeshifter and she can turn into a bird. As she's our scout, I ask that you _not_ treat her like you did that poor farmer's chickens."

"Morrigan? Is It the swamp witch with the immovable fleshy bits?"

Joss snickered. "That's the one. So, if you suddenly see a raven flying around us, please leave it alone."

"If It insists."

"It most certainly does, at least for now."

Joss stared at the large pile of talking rock in front of her and noticed, for the first time, that there were a number of indentations in the golem's arms and neck. "Stay right there, don't move a muscle…erm…pebble," she instructed and went back into the inn but not before Shale commented on her lack of humor.

"It should not give up Its day job."

Teagan was gone when she got to the room and she hoped he was in with the Couslands having a heart to heart. Digging around in her overstuffed pack, she pulled out the oddly-shaped, glowing crystals she'd found inside Wilhelm's laboratory. She could feel the magical power in them but hadn't known what they were for. Returning to Shale, she held one up.

"Does this go in one of those holes?" she asked, moving to insert one in Shale's arm. Shale made a low sound of disapproval that made the hair on the back of Josslyn's neck jump up and stand at attention.

"How would It like to have things inserted into Its cavities?"

Joss chuckled. "That would depend on what 'thing' it was and which cavity it was being inserted into."

Shale actually sighed. "It realizes It is a fragile creature? Squissssssh."

Nothing frightening about that sound, Joss thought with a shudder. "Oh, point taken. Here, you shove these into your holes then."

Shale held out a rather large stone hand and Joss dropped the glowing green crystals into it. She watched with interest as the golem inserted the various crystals into its arms and neck. The once-grey stone now glowed an eerie emerald green and the crystals began to hum pleasantly.

"These are augmentation crystals. It can't possibly have known what they were, of course, so I won't thank It for Its foresight."

Joss huffed at that. "I may be squishy, oh great Stone One, but I'm a mage who can turn _you_ into a frog or better yet, a pigeon!"

"It hopes to frighten me?"

"It hopes you realize you're not indestructible. Tweet, tweet! That's all It has to say." Joss retorted. In truth, she didn't know if she could use a transmogrifying spell on a heap of rock, but Shale didn't need to know that.

"Its point is made. Now, stop wagging Its tongue."

Joss grinned. She really did like Old Stony.

The rest of the day was spent speaking with each of her companions, with the notable exception of Morrigan, who was off flying around the countryside, and Wynne, who was avoiding her. No surprise there. Joss did not visit the Couslands. She didn't have any wish to see the paragon of noble goodness that was Elissa.

After dinner, she went up to prepare for her trip to the Fade. Her preparation included taking a bath and slipping into her nightdress. Just as she climbed onto the feather bed, Zev arrived with a bottle of wine and two glasses.

"Oh great, the two of you get hammered while I'm in the Fade risking my life?"

"My dear, I merely wish to help Teagan relax."

Joss raised a brow at that. "So you can take advantage of him?"

Zev laughed. "The great Zevran Arainai does not need to ply people with wine for them to become his lovers, sweet Josslyn."

"You can ply all you want, Zevran. It won't do any good," Teagan assured him firmly.

"Ah, now you have issued a challenge I may be forced to accept."

Joss watched the two men with a fond smile. "Just don't get so caught up in the moment that the two of you forget where I am."

"There isn't going to be a moment," Teagan interjected calmly.

Joss rested her head on the pillow and closed her eyes. She tossed. She turned. She sighed. Sleep laughed at her and darted away. She might have known she wouldn't be able to sleep with both men watching her as if she was pheasant under glass.

"Zev, please find Jowan and ask him to come put me to sleep."

As soon as Zev had left the room, Teagan lay down beside her and wrapped his arms around her. "Just relax against me," he urged softly and she found that was exactly what she did.

**~~~oOo~~~**

The Fade's browns and greys wavered around her as she set off for her destination, following the thin wisp of blue from her spell. She passed a demon lurking outside a portal, playing with her nipple clamps and smiling at Joss.

"Anything you desire is yours," the desire demon purred, stroking her breasts. As if. Joss grinned.

"Anything?" she asked, opening her eyes wide.

"You have only to name it and it shall be yours. For a price, of course."

"You know, I've seen ladies of the night with more finesse and brains."

"Ladies of the night?"

"Sweet cream ladies? Candy coated gals? Women of ill-repute?"

The demon's eyes narrowed. "Can they do this?" the demon asked angrily, conjuring up a rage demon.

"No, nor can they do this," Josslyn replied, chanting softly, her hands busy creating a small blizzard. The demon and its fiery friend froze. Joss, hands glowing with magical energy, hurled lightning at the two figures. With a pop and a wheeze, they disappeared. There was nothing more satisfying than ridding the Fade of a demon. Joss blinked and thought of Teagan, realizing while that may have held true at one time, it no longer did.

Continuing on, she found the Fadescape she was searching for and entered, hoping she hadn't caught Petra in a compromising dream. Her friend was sitting on her bed, wrapped in a blanket with a bottle of rotgut in her hand. She raised it to Joss with one hand and patted the bed with the other.

"I figured you'd be popping in sooner or later so I've been trying to dream clean dreams," Petra explained with a grin.

Joss took a pull from the bottle and shuddered, grimacing. Gwaren Gin. It smelled like paint thinner and if disgust had a taste that taste would be Gwaren Gin. "You couldn't have picked up a nice Rivaini moscato?"

"For old times," Petra replied. Many a night they had sat on her bed, wrapped in blankets, drinking rotgut and exchanging gossip.

Being First Enchanter obviously agreed with Petra. She looked relaxed and happy. For a minute the longing for her old life in the tower was so strong Joss couldn't speak. It seemed like she'd been gone forever. And she knew she'd never be able to return to her old life. Nothing depressing about that thought. The dream around her began to shimmer and fade. Joss scrambled to clear her mind before she woke up. Remembering Teagan and her new friends settled her mind and the fog that had been creeping into the dream receded.

"How's everything in Kinloch?" she asked once the dream was stable again. She was an idiot. Negative thoughts in the Fade led to really bad dreams and worse.

"Better each day. Greagoir is thinking of retiring but I made him promise not to until things are more in order. Mages from Orlais and Nevarra are on the way to help build up the Circle. Cullen is…" Petra hesitated. A blush slapped her cheeks.

Joss watched the woman's face redden and she snorted on her gin. "Andraste's flaming tits! Does that horrible shade of red in your cheeks mean Cullen the Timid has made a move?"

"He's in line to take over for Greagoir so naturally we have to work together."

Joss laughed. "Well, well. I'm guessing that means Cullen's _healing_, if you know what I mean?"

Again Petra blushed. "I'm assisting in his treatment."

"Oh, I'll bet you are. Good for you."

Joss enjoyed catching up on the gossip, who was doing what and who was doing who. An hour passed and finally she sighed. "I've got another dream to pop in on. I want to make sure Niall is okay. I guess I better explain what I need you to do and get a move on."

She explained about Flemeth, the grimoire, the leafless tree, the amulet and its contents. "I need you to have someone research what the leafless tree means, what the amulet and its contents mean and anything at all about Flemeth that isn't superstitious hogwash."

Petra nodded. "Only you would mess with the infamous Witch of the Wilds."

"You mean I'm the only one foolish enough to"

"Exactly! Crazy bitch."

"Hag."

"Say, you look disgustingly happy. Don't tell me the rumors about you and the Bann of Rainesfere are true?"

"Okay, I won't. I'll be by in a week or so for any information you manage to find when you aren't too busy _treating_ Cullen."

With that, she hugged Petra and stepped out of the dream. Once again the wavering browns and greys of the raw Fade surrounded her. Off in the distance she heard a howl. It was as mournful a sound as she had ever heard. It was not the sort of sound one wanted to hear in the Fade. At. All.

Niall was sitting on top of a very tall mountain. Joss actually felt winded by the time she made her way up to the top of it but the view was worth the climb. It was comforting to know that some things never changed. Niall always had been an isolationist and it appeared he still was. There wasn't a soul around. He looked relaxed and his cheeks had filled out. He almost looked happy.

"Hey Red," she greeted fondly and Niall chuckled.

"I hate that name, but I think you already know that."

She sat beside him, shoulder to shoulder. "I know. You look really good, Niall. Do you really, or is that just part of the illusion?"

"I look that good. Too bad you didn't notice that when we were apprentices together."

"I know. I already told Petra I'm an idiot. How many times in one night do I have to say it?"

Niall chuckled again. "More than once, I can tell you that."

Joss was delighted to see how much better Niall was doing. He was the old Niall, the one who was really shy and morose until you dug a little deeper and found the warmth and wit beneath.

"How is Arl Eamon?" she asked, neatly sidestepping his remark.

"Hanging on for now but he's starting to lose ground again. If the arlessa is correct and you there really is an urn out there you need to find it quickly."

Joss explained where they had been and what they had been doing. He was fascinated by the encounter with the werewolves and Dalish and even more by Shale. "You mentioned before that you had several treaties you needed to use in order to pull your army together. If one of them is for the dwarves of Orzammar you should go and visit the Shaperate and talk to the Shaper while you're there."

"Oh, of course. I mean_,_ why wouldn't I want to go and visit the Shaperate and talk to a Shaper? Uh, what exactly is the Shaperate?"

"All those hours in the library and you never read about the keeper of dwarven memories?"

"Dwarves don't have memories? Someone keeps them? Wow, that must clear up a lot of wasted space in the brain."

Laughing, Niall nudged her shoulder with his. "The Shaper records all the events that take place among the dwarves. These 'memories' are housed in the Shaperate. You should be able to go there and find out information on the golem."

"Yes, okay, I knew that. Sort of. Maybe. Or you know, not at all. Shaperate. Shaper. Got it."

They sat in silence for a minute before Joss asked, "How's Bran?"

"Still lost but I have him helping in the chantry for now and he's slowly coming around. He'll always mourn Stoker. I feel bad for the man. He misses his old life in the tower."

"Who doesn't?"

"Me. I don't miss it at all."

"You always were odd," Joss said fondly.

"I'd dispute that but I suspect you don't have much more time."

"How's Connor?"

"Smart and talented. Arlessa Isolde is a pain but I envy how much she loves her son. It makes me miss my mother."

"Write to your mother. Tell her to come for a visit. If the arlessa won't put your mum up, there's a tavern and inn in the village. There's no reason not to."

"I'll think about it. How much longer are you going to be?"

"Hopefully Teagan will be in Redcliffe within the week but you aren't going anywhere until the Blight is over and the Circle is in better shape so you've got plenty of time."

They sat in companionable silence for a few more minutes. Finally Joss stood. "Time for me to head back. I'll come haunt your dreams when we find the urn."

Niall stood and put an arm around her shoulders. "I'd tell you not to get into trouble but that's like telling a bird not to fly."

"Bastard."

"Bitch."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

She stepped off the mountaintop and stood for a minute, getting her bearings, before casting a spell. As long as she was in the Fade she decided she might as well try and see what Loghain was up to. Maybe she could plant a suggestion or two in his head so he'd stop the ridiculous civil war and remove the bounty from her head. She was partial to her head and thought it looked just right sitting on her shoulders.

She followed the faint blue light of her spell for what seemed like hours before she came to a portal. The blue light entered the portal and she followed…right into a land of mist-shrouded trees and eerie echoes.

"Well, this isn't good," she muttered around a suddenly thick tongue. Maker's moldy ass, what was she doing in the Korcari Wilds? What was Loghain doing in the Wilds for that matter?

"Of all the dreams in all the dreamscapes in all the Fade, she had to step into mine."

Joss had never before gotten goose-bumps in the Fade but they were marching up her arms like a conquering army at the moment.

"Well, well, my favorite mystery lady. Hello, Flemeth. What brings you to my little corner of the Fade?"

"Who is to say you aren't in my corner of the Fade?"

"I wouldn't think some_thing_ like you would dream or that I'd be able to find the dream if you did."

"Ah. It seems you know your limitations. That _is_ reassuring."

Joss was inching slowly back the way she'd come, without quite knowing why. Niall's dream had already vanished. What she really needed to do was wake up. Soon. As in now. Flemeth's words stopped her dead in her tracks. A poor choice of words, she chided herself with a shiver.

"You went to a great deal of trouble to find this dream. It's a shame you want to leave so soon."

"As much as I hate admitting mistakes, this isn't the dream I was searching for. At. All."

"Perhaps I wanted to talk to you."

"Or kill me in the Fade? Make me tranquil?"

Joss took several steps backward. The disembodied voice of Flemeth was coming from in front of her, so back seemed the logical choice. She gathered up her courage, which seemed to have fallen to the ground, and then bravely turned and ran like her ass was on fire. The mist made it impossible to find her way. She stumbled to a stop, listening to Flemeth's unsettling laughter. The psychotic witch. Joss struggled to move her leaden feet.

"Joss, here," a voice whispered and she felt a hand tugging at her. Without hesitation she grabbed the hand and let herself be pulled, her feet pounding along the path now visible as the mist drifted away.

"What are you doing here?" she managed to gasp out as she ran.

"Saving you, of course. It's the least I can do. I'm very proud of you, Josslyn. Don't let Flemeth keep you from following your path. She'll try.

"Now step out and wake yourself up. Quickly. Please don't worry about the baby. He's with me," Brin said.

"What? What baby? Brin, wait! What ba…" she began but he pushed her through the portal, effectively ejecting her from the Fade.

Her eyes opened and she gasped. She was back in her room at the inn. Teagan and Zevran were watching her with matching expressions that fell somewhere between confused and wary. Had she talked out loud while she was in the Fade? That wouldn't be a good thing. Her stomach jumped.

There was nothing worse that leaving the Fade too quickly, Joss thought as her stomach began to roll and pitch. Fade Walkers referred to it as premature ejection. She sighed and closed her eyes, wondering if she could just go back to sleep and pretend her stomach wasn't rebelling.

"What baby?" Teagan asked quietly.

So much for that idea.


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N**: _This chapter is from various PoVs, covering the time that Joss was in the Fade. Many thanks for being an awesome beta, Lisa!_

**While She was Sleeping**

"At the risk of sounding like an overprotective father, what are your intentions towards our lovely Warden?"

Teagan, busy trying to slide off the bed without disturbing the Warden in question, refrained from sighing loudly. Hadn't he put up with enough from the assassin for one day? "I fail to see what concern that is of yours," he replied coolly as he pulled a chair up to Joss's bedside. Were they speaking in clichés or was he imagining that?

"I assure you, Bann Teagan, it is my concern. Should you break her heart, I shall, of course, return the favor and break yours."

Teagan eyed the assassin somewhat warily. "I get the impression you mean that literally and not figuratively."

"You are no fool, I see."

A very long night no longer seemed a possibility, but a certainty. "If you must know, I've asked her to marry me. I believe she has agreed, although I won't swear to that."

"Then you _do_ love her."

"Maker's breath, haven't I made that abundantly clear to everyone by now? Only a fool in love would behave as I have. Of course I love her. As do you, I suspect."

Zevran smiled, but it was not his usual smirk. "Perhaps, but not in the way you imagine, my dear bann."

Teagan doubted that. He'd seen Zevran's expression when he thought no one was watching and it was obvious that the assassin was more than just fond of Joss. He looked at her as one would look at a savior. He was always there, quietly smoothing things over and easing the burdens she carried. So much so, Teagan thought with mild exasperation, that it made him want to throttle the Antivan. Yet he was also grateful for his steadying influence on Joss.

"Then by all means, Zevran, explain it to me."

Zevran poured them each a glass of wine, every movement swift and sure, before handing one of the glasses to Teagan. "You wish to discuss my love for your future wife? This could be entertaining."

Teagan drank deeply, already wishing he hadn't demanded an explanation because he wasn't at all sure he wanted to know in what way Zevran loved Joss. In fact, he didn't want to hear any details about it at all, given the elf's penchant for sexual overtones in every conversation. Of course, it was too late as Zevran was already giving him a raised eyebrow and suggestive leer.

Before Zevran could respond, Teagan said quietly, "You and Joss are very much alike. You both hide yourselves behind walls and the minute someone tries to breach those walls, you trot out a repertoire of innuendo and flirtatious banter and she hides behind humor and social awkwardness. You both deflect in the hope that nobody will take the time to penetrate those walls."

Zevran laughed softly, his golden eyes on Teagan. "So you are not just another pretty face. She and I are alike, yes, though perhaps this behavior of ours is to protect others and not ourselves."

Teagan frowned and took another sip of his wine. Was that why she pushed away so hard at times? She was trying to protect him? From what? He was a grown man and surely could meet any problem that arose. Although, he admitted with a chuckle of his own, it was more likely to be a crisis with Joss. Mere problems would be a welcome change.

He could understand why Zevran would protect others he cared about by pushing them away. He was an assassin and there were bound to be plenty of people who wanted him dead. But why would Joss have a need to protect people by keeping them at arm's length? Not that it had done any good anyway. He couldn't even imagine his life without her in it.

"Ah, you still don't understand, do you, my friend? She believes she is responsible for the deaths of her brother and Brinmar. She does despise Wynne for it, but deep down she blames herself, and she fears you will meet the same fate. I am surprised, for all your insight, you have not seen this."

That wasn't what he'd expected to hear. He eyed Zevran warily. Was he right? Or was he playing some kind of game with Teagan, testing his love for Joss? He admitted to himself that there was a ring of truth to his words. "Why would she blame herself? From what she's said it seems obvious that Wynne does bear a large part of the blame."

"Guilt often overlooks logic. She loved these two men but they are gone and she lives. She failed to protect them. Why do you think she gets up every night to check on those who are on watch? She will not let anyone else die that she cares for, even if it means _she_ has to."

Teagan looked over at Joss, dark auburn hair fanning her pillow, lips moving silently as she walked in the Fade. "Well, she'll just have to accept that I'm not going anywhere, no matter how hard she pushes me away."

"Hmm, perhaps if you break your betrothal with Elissa, your words will carry more weight," Zevran replied with a snicker.

Teagan shifted uncomfortably. "There was never a formal betrothal, no announcement, but I do need to speak with Fergus and Elissa."

Zevran refilled their glasses and they sipped in companionable silence, watching Joss.

**~~~oOo~~~**

"You can't!"

"I can so."

"No, you can't."

"I can so."

"Can't."

"Can."

"Hush, both of you. You're worse than children," Wynne demanded sharply, setting her sewing aside. If she hadn't been mending Alistair's favorite shirt, he would have ignored her. At least until he'd gotten the last word in.

Alistair rolled his eyes and mouthed, "Can't."

Jowan rolled his eyes back at him and mouthed, "Can."

Alistair shook his head. Jowan nodded. Alistair was becoming slightly annoyed with the blood mage and shook his head vehemently. Jowan merely nodded again. This went on for several rounds until Alistair felt faintly nauseous and finally stopped. He shook his head once more and Jowan, smirking, nodded once more. Soon, they were at it again.

""Tis like watching two dimwitted dogs wrestle over a bone," Morrigan commented, as haughty as ever. Styx barked and then growled at the witch. Alistair hoped the mabari would bite Morrigan but he was not that lucky. With another menacing growl, Styx curled up in front of the fireplace and went back to sleep.

"Oh but Morrigan, they aren't wrestling over a bone," Sister Leliana of the Hopelessly Befuddled chirped brightly from her corner of the common room.

Alistair was beginning to think Josslyn was right about Leliana. She really didn't seem to be all there. Maybe the vision from the Maker had been a manifestation of a demented mind? He shivered. Not a thought he wanted to have, really. He liked to think she was just so wrapped up in her love for the Maker that her head was in the clouds more often than not. Yes, a much better thought.

"If they don't stop, I'm going to reach over and smack them both," Cathair remarked without looking up from her book.

Alistair was happy to see Jowan's head stop bobbing. Obviously Jowan was more afraid of Cathair's temper than losing the argument. He could live with that. He pushed away from the table and grinned. He had almost reached the doorway when he heard Jowan.

"Can."

Alistair turned and marched back to his chair and sat down. "Can't."

"Can."

"Boys, don't make me send you to bed without your dessert," Wynne warned with quiet authority.

Alistair fell silent for several minutes. Dessert had been promised by the innkeeper's wife, pastries filled with sweet cream. He wrestled with the urge to continue the war of wills with Jowan but the thought of dessert made his mouth water. He stared at Wynne and wondered how much authority she had. He was Josslyn's Second and he didn't report to her. She couldn't really send them to bed or take away their dessert. She was bluffing. He hoped.

"Can't."

"Show the fool you can and be done with it," Morrigan hissed in disgust.

"No, not me! I didn't mean…." Alistair started to protest just as Jowan began to speak.

""_Innah Ghawdah Daveedah! Toadioso Ad Nauseum!_" Jowan said, waving his hands.

**~~~oOo~~~**

"Cock-a-doodle-doo!" Alistair crowed, strutting around the room and pecking at the floor.

"Maker's breath, Jowan! You turn him back this instant!" Wynne cried, flinging her sewing aside and standing up, arms akimbo.

Jowan, as shocked as anyone to see that his spell hadn't quite worked as intended, was scrambling around in his brain for the right words to reverse the spell. He hadn't really expected it to work. Not that it had, exactly. Yes, he'd transmogrified Alistair, but not into a toad. Jowan preened a bit at having turned his fellow Warden into a rooster. That seemed a greater feat than turning Wynne into a frog because a rooster was so much bigger. But before he could get too cocky, he remembered that Brin had been killed for practicing forbidden magic. He'd been reported to the templars by Wynne and Jowan's mind went blank as panic hit. She'd do the same to him, Warden or no, he was sure.

"Uh – I – that is –" he began and trailed off.

It didn't matter that he couldn't remember the reversing spell because Alistair suddenly reverted to his former self. Well, except he was madder than a wet hen, Jowan thought, and that made him laugh, which wasn't what Alistair wanted to hear just as he transmogrified back to himself. Jowan was fairly certain of that, mostly because Alistair was spluttering in indignation.

"I guess this proves I can," Jowan finally said to the furious templar.

"No you can't. I said a frog. I didn't say anything about roosters," Alistair retorted triumphantly.

"Can."

"Can't."

"Enough!" Randal suddenly roared, stepping between the two men.

Jowan blinked in surprise. Randal rarely lost his temper, rarely raised his voice. In fact, he rarely spoke at all. Now the man was glaring at both of them like he wanted to beat them. Jowan gulped and nervously smoothed down his robes. Alistair was still glaring daggers at him and Wynne seemed to be speechless. He was relieved to see thatCathair, who could probably break him in half, was actually grinning at him. He straightened up and flashed a smile at her. He would be the bigger man.

"Let's call it a draw," Jowan said, sticking his hand out to Alistair.

"Fair enough," Alistair finally agreed, clasping it and shaking hard enough to rattle Jowan's teeth.

**~~~oOo~~~**

Alistair shook his head. "I honestly don't remember what it felt like. I mean one minute I was yelling and then I was pecking at the floor, craving cracked corn. I'm not sure I thought about anything because it happened so fast and then I was me again. If you really want to know what it feels like, ask Joss to cast a frog spell on you."

He paused and looked up at the doorway. Elissa and Fergus Cousland were entering the room. Fergus was tall and looked like he could easily whip everyone in the room at the same time. Even wounded, he was powerful looking. And, Alistair noted glumly, protective of his sister. His arm was draped around her shoulders and he glared at each man in the room.

"Oh, Your Grace, are you feeling well enough to be up?" Wynne asked, dropping a brief curtsey.

Alistair barely bit back a snort at her sudden change in demeanor. The man put his pants on the same as anyone else. Or so Alistair assumed. He'd never actually watched a noble get dressed. Nor was he ever likely to.

"Please, I'm Fergus and this is Elissa. The middle of a Blight hardly seems like the time to use formal titles," the man said with a grim smile.

"Yes, please do call us by our given names, all of you," Elissa added and Alistair felt like someone had set a bunch of butterflies loose in his stomach.

She was the most beautiful girl – woman - he'd ever seen. Her short brown hair was glossy and thick, held back by a leather strip, and her eyes were an unusual shade of blue. A nice unusual , not a weird unusual, he mentally amended. _Right, because clearly she can read my thoughts_. She wore finely_-_made leather armor and when they had arrived she'd had two very nice daggers riding along very shapely hips. Not that he looked at her hips. That would just be wrong. And vulgar. But she definitely had nice hips.

Alistair wracked his brain for something intelligent to say. Or anything at all, for that matter. But his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth and it didn't appear to want to move. He tried to smile but he could feel the corners of his mouth quivering. Maker's breath, she was moving his way, smiling. Where, in the Maker's name, had his brain gone?

"And this is Warden Alistair. You just missed his brief but triumphant appearance as a rooster," Cathair was saying by way of introduction. She really ought to be the Second, as take-charge as she was, Alistair thought_, _somewhat aggrieved by the thought that she found it so easy to assume leadership while he avoided it at all costs.

"Yes, that's me, the coc - I mean, I'm Alistair, a Grey Warden," he said over the sudden laughter that filled the room. Nice and smooth, Alistair. _Want to eat your other foot while you're at it? _

"Do these things happen frequently?" Elissa asked, smiling at him.

"Uh – er- no?"

Alistair hoped fervently that the Archdemon would drop out of the sky or the floor would open up and swallow him whole. Or that he would suddenly become more like Teagan and less like a bumbling idiot. None of those things seemed likely.

"I imagine you made a very handsome rooster," she continued, perfectly at ease and flirting with him. She'd obviously sustained a head injury. Or she was making fun of his shyness. Probably both.

Silence fell as everyone watched the exchange and Alistair struggled to dislodge the butterflies that were beating even more furiously in his stomach. His mind was a blank slate.

"You're Maric's bastard, aren't you?" Fergus asked in the stillness.

Alistair reached up and rubbed his forehead. "It's the tattoo, isn't it? Gives it away every time," he joked. Yes, he was well on his way to impressing the highest ranking nobles in the land. Maker, he was just that good.

"You not only look like him, you have his sense of humor," Fergus Cousland remarked with a grin.

"It's a gift, what can I say?"

Who had taken over his mouth? And could they please stay in control? Both Elissa and Fergus laughed and joined him at the table. The innkeeper, bowing and scraping, came and took their order and scurried away. Alistair was impressed to see a man who could bow and scrape _and _move that fast all at the same time.

"Elissa and I want to discuss the future of the Ferelden throne with you," the tall, shaggy-haired man began, just as Alistair finally got up the nerve to drink from his mug. The results were predictable as his ale slowly dripped off Elissa Cousland's elegant nose.

Never an Archdemon around when you need one, Alistair reflected sadly.

**~~~oOo~~~**

"What? What baby? Brin, wait! What ba…" Joss mumbled.

Teagan leaned forward, imagining his expression mirrored Zevran's look of confusion and surprise. What baby? He wasn't even sure he wanted to know. Was it another of her secrets? Was she pregnant after all? He was determined to let her get her bearings and tell him when she was ready_, _so he was mildly annoyed with himself when he blurted out, "What baby?"

Of course_, _it wasn't really the best time to talk because she had that green tinge to her face that meant her stomach was not the least bit happy with her.

"Zev, fetch an empty basin and a cold rag."

Joss blinked at him and groaned, her hand going to her mouth. "Quickly," he added before smoothing her hair away from her face. He still wasn't sure he believed her weak stomach was due to her unique talents, but now was not the time to argue about it.

"Our baby?" he asked quietly. Or perhaps it was since his mind seemed inclined to do what it wanted.

"Not now," she hissed and then clamped her hand over her mouth. His stomach clenched in sympathy.

Once she was finished, and his own stomach had settled down, Teagan watched as Zev bent and whispered something in Josslyn's ear before turning and giving Teagan an enigmatic smile.

"A most enlightening evening," he said, before adding softly, "Have patience, my good friend." With another smile, he left.

Evening? It was nearly morning and Teagan's eyes felt gritty. His brain felt gritty, now that he thought about it. He watched with interest as Joss swung her legs off the bed and went to the washstand. She poured a small amount of water into a cup and crushed a mint leaf into it before drinking it with a grimace. She was obviously not going to answer his questions, not without some prodding. He decided he would really rather prod a bear.

"I'm sorry, I came out of the Fade much too quickly. I hate that. My stomach hates it even more."

"Rough trip?"

She came and sat down on his lap, burrowing into him and he put an arm around her as he waited for her to respond.

"Wonderful up until the end, which was not what I was expecting. At. All."

Of course_, _he had to strain to hear her because her voice was muffled by his chest. And her words didn't reassure him in the least. "What happened?"

"Niall says your brother is doing well enough but he is beginning to lose ground again."

"I can't imagine that's the part that was unexpected."

"Connor is also doing well."

Teagan stroked her back, waiting for more information. "That's good," he finally said when she didn't continue.

"Things are slowly getting back to normal at Kinloch Hold and Petra is going to do some research for us. Oh!" Joss exclaimed, sitting up with a smile. "She's finally converted Cullen."

Teagan blinked. "Converted Cullen to a mage?" Was that even possible? He felt completely out of his depths when it came to mages and he was going to have to read up on them since his future wife was one. And who was this Cullen fellow?

Joss snickered. "In a manner of speaking. He's at least _into_ mages now. Or a certain mage, at any rate."

Patience indeed, Teagan thought dryly as she grinned at him. She wasn't going to give him any information if he didn't coax it out of her. "Is she the one with the baby?"

"Maker's knobby knees! I have no idea who the baby is or what Brin was even doing there. When you die you're supposed to pass through the Fade into the Beyond and you know, sit at the right hand or left foot of the Maker or something. In all my Fade walking I've never seen him before and, believe me, after both he and Joseph died I did a lot of searching for them. Why now?"

That was disquieting news and he hoped she couldn't hear the strain in his voice when he asked, "Didn't you have a chance to ask him?"

"Well, I was going to, except that he seemed damned determined to get me away from Flemeth and out of the Fade as quickly as possible. I guess I could have hung around and asked, except I'm not too crazy about being made tranquil," she replied with more sarcasm than usual.

He pulled her close again. She was afraid of whatever had happened. That seemed only fair since he suddenly was too. "I see. Do you have you any idea why Flemeth was there?"

"I'm fairly sure it wasn't to discuss my lack of people skills."

"Did she just appear out of thin air?"

Joss snorted. "That's pretty much what the Fade is until it's shaped by dreamers."

Teagan took a deep breath. He really didn't want to provoke a scene but she seemed determined not to discuss what had happened and he was fairly certain it was important, whatever _it _was.

"The Archdemon is just going to have towait until you to tell me what's going on."

Joss leaned back to look at him. Actually, he decided, that was more of a glare than a look. He reached out and cupped her chin, giving her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

"All of it, if you please," he instructed quietly.

As she explained her experience with Flemeth, Teagan tried to be calm and reassuring. So a powerful witch, who was dead, was harassing his betrothed in the Fade. What was there to be worried about? Except apparently she wasn't dead, or possibly she was, and why was Josslyn's former lover there? His frustration was reaching new heights.

"Have you no idea whose baby it was that Brin was referring to?"

Josslyn's eyes slid away from his and she shrugged. Hardly reassuring. He tried again. "If you are with child, Josslyn, don't you think I should know?"

"It's possible that he meant the baby I lost right after he died," she said in such a low voice he had to strain to hear it, and even then he wasn't sure he'd heard her correctly.

"You were pregnant with Brin's baby when he died?" Maker! Now his stomach was hopping and jumping like a crazed frog. He took a deep breath, followed by a large gulp of wine. His stomach laughed at his attempt to settle it.

Joss shrugged, studying the floor with great interest. Teagan's patience was rapidly shrinking. "Joss, do you still have so little trust in me?" he chided, his voice not quite as gentle as he had hoped it would be.

"I went a bit crazy when Brin died. Well, honestly, and I know this will surprise you no end, I went a lot crazy after Brin died and I had to be restrained for the first few days. That's when I lost the baby. At the time, I honestly didn't know I was pregnant and I wasn't very far along. If that's the baby Brin even meant. I didn't ask anyone about the details of the baby at the time because I wanted to pretend it had never happened."

Feeling curiously light_-_headed, which he blamed on the wine and not the news she'd just delivered so solemnly, Teagan searched for something appropriate to say. What came out of his mouth was not what he'd intended. "Why didn't you tell me about this before?"

"What does it matter? I lost a baby I didn't know I was carrying. I lost Brin. I lost Joseph. I lose things, Teagan. It's what I do. People I love leave and the preferred method of departure is death. You really ought to run for the hills now. Or Redcliffe. Or anywhere that isn't here."

He had never heard her sound so sad. That was not the Joss he had come to know and it distressed him to see it in her now.

"I'm sorry for your losses, my love. I can't even imagine how terrible it must have been for you," he whispered against her hair as she burrowed into him again. His shirt was becoming damp and he realized she was quietly crying. Joss doing anything quietly was unusual and a bit unnerving. He kissed the top of her head and waited for her to continue. She sniffed and sat up again.

"I know you think I'm keeping all these deep, dark secrets but I…" she trailed off. With a watery smile, she continued. "I guess I am, aren't I? It's just I didn't want to be one of those stupid, tragic figures you read about in romance novels and roll your eyes at because they are ridiculously tragic. I didn't want you to feel sorry for the poor pitiful waif."

Teagan laughed, surprising them both. She arched an eyebrow at him and he shook his head. "You are no more a pitiful waif than I am a Chantry brother."

"Well, that's the kind of compliment every woman desires," she said with a wry laugh. "But thank you for the sentiment, Brother Teagan. I didn't tell you at first for that reason and because I didn't think this was anything more than just a fling, a way for both of us to relieve tension and feel connected to someone. Then the longer this lasted_,_ the less I wanted to say anything because I was afraid you would run for those hills I mentioned earlier and really you should because I'm the Archdemon of relationships and I –"

Teagan stopped her mid-sentence with a firm kiss. "I understand, Joss." To his surprise, he did understand and, while it was not the way he would do things, it was very much the way she would do things. His talk with Zev had helped him understand Joss on a much deeper level. He was surprised at the stab of jealousy he now felt that Zev had understood her before he had.

"I'm sorry."

He frowned, wondering if she was sorry for not being honest with him sooner or sorry she finally had been, allowing herself to become far more vulnerable than she was comfortable with. He was reluctant to ask but that didn't stop his mouth from uttering, "For what, exactly?"

"For this, for everything. I should have just told Irving to go to the Void when he suggested I go with Duncan. I really am horrible at being a normal person."

Teagan chuckled. "My dear Lady Josslyn, had I wanted a normal person, I would already be married. I've waited thirty-eight years for you."

As he shucked his clothes off and they climbed into bed, he felt a brief flare of disappointment. Some part of him had hoped she was pregnant with their child. When she opened her arms to him, he kissed her, letting his hand rest lightly on her stomach.

One day soon. He hoped.

**A/N**: _Icey-Cold, Gene Dark and I co-wrote a story recently for the Bioware Bang. It's the story of the founding of the Grey Wardens entitled __**The Grey Tales**__. Yes, there are griffons in it! You can find a link to it in my profile or search on the pen-name Genespira Cold here on ff. We hope you check it out!_


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: **_Thank you, lisakodysam, for cleaning up my stray commas, disappearing commas, and all manner of mayhem. Your beta-ness is awesome!_

**Stairway to Haven**

Joss woke up heavy-lidded and dry-mouthed. She struggled out from under the covers and went to wash her sticky face. Andraste's ass, she had cried for most of the night like some pathetic child. She splashed water into the basin and scrubbed at her face.

No doubt Teagan was already trying to find ways to escape. She ought to be kind and just open the door and point him in the direction of Redcliffe. Except that she wasn't entirely sure which direction that would be.

He had told her that he wanted to be with her, that he loved her. He certainly must have believed it because he wasstill with her - sprawled out on his back, his chest rising and falling rhythmically – and he had spent most of the night pressed against her back, his arm curled around her waist.

He was insane, of course. There could be no other reason for his remaining at her side. Demented and adorable, she decided, leaning down to brush a light kiss along his mouth. He stirred and rolled over, searching for her. Not finding her, he settled for pulling a pillow into his arms and burrowing into it.

"Time to get a move on, Teagan," she whispered. He nodded and curled his arms around the pillow now clutched tightly to his chest.

"Rise and shine," she said more loudly and whipped the covers back. His eyes opened and he peered at her with bleary blue eyes. She let her eyes travel the length of his body and her smile grew.

"Ah, I see at least part of you has already risen," she snickered, bending down to kiss him again.

His hand snaked out and he pulled her down on top of him. His mouth played along hers and his hands skimmed up her bare skin, sending small shockwaves through her. The man was talented; there was no two ways about it. She sat up, straddling him, her brow quirked. That hadn't gone quite according to plan. Not that she was going to complain.

"It's very difficult to think properly when you wander about sans clothing, my dear."

"Sorry, I certainly don't want to make it any harder for you," she replied, batting her eyelashes.

"I don't think you can," he replied with a raffish grin. He sat them both up in one graceful movement. If she had tried that, they would have wound up on the floor, she was sure.

"Oh? Perhaps I shouldn't do this, then? I don't want to prove you wrong."

"Evil woman," he growled against her throat as she reached behind her and captured his erection in her hand and stroked with teasing fingers.

"Oh! Well, we can't have that," she replied and crawled off him, rolled off the bed and stood up. Not as gracefully as him, but she hadn't tripped. That had to count for something.

He scrambled off the bed, advancing on her with a wicked smile. "Oh no, milady, you'll not escape so easily."

"I didn't intend on starting anything. I should really get the group moving," she replied, backing up. She felt her shoulders and back connect with the wall. He had very neatly walked her into a corner.

"You want Alistair to take on more duties. This is the perfect opportunity to let him get everyone moving."

"Good point," she responded as his erection brushed against her. He placed his hands on the wall on either side of her. She was trapped there and she couldn't have been happier about it.

"Faint praise indeed, milady," he whispered as he moved in to kiss her.

She spent the next thirty minutes showing him just _how_ good she found his point.

Later, as they were dressing, Teagan broached the subject of Elissa.

"All I ask is that you not turn her into a toad."

Joss feigned disappointment. "Truly? Perhaps something else, then? A chicken? A rabbit? Nothing more frightening than becoming a fluffy bunny."

Teagan laughed, but she could tell he was also a bit uneasy. "I don't imagine her brother will be too pleased to have a killer bunny for a sister."

Drawing out a deep sigh, she finally consented. "No transmogrifying the bann's betrothed. Got it."

"My dear, she is not my betrothed," Teagan said with remarkable patience. By Josslyn's reckoning, he had told her that very thing at least a dozen times in as many hours.

Joss jabbed the last hairpin into her chignon. "You may not think so, but I have yet to ask what she thinks. She may be harboring some bit of hope that you see the error of your ways, not to mention the madness, and go running back to her. She is quite lovely, after all."

"Should that happen, I have no doubt that you will find solace in the arms of Zevran."

"Now that's a plan I can live with."

"Not if you want _him_ to live."

"My, my, what double standards you have, Bann Teagan. I can't transmogrify Little Bunny Elissa but you can kill Zevran? You don't think that's just a bit unfair?"

Teagan grinned. "Completely unfair, so I suggest we just let Elissa and Zevran find others to bestow their affections on."

"A wise plan."

Everyone was waiting in the common room when they finally made their way downstairs. Well, everyone except Shale_, _who was too large to fit through the door. That was going to be a problem wherever they went, she suspected, with the exception of Castle Redcliffe. The castle doors were large enough to accommodate a golem riding on the shoulders of another golem. Which was, Joss decided, something she would actually pay to see.

Elissa glanced up from her breakfast and a hush fell over the room as all eyes turned to Joss. Did she have a bit of jam on her chin? Had she forgotten to dress? Maybe Teagan had left a mark on her neck? She nodded at Elissa, who smiled sweetly and returned to her breakfast. Fergus grinned and waved them over to his table. Joss would rather dance with a spider. She shuddered. Not an image she wanted. Perhaps sitting with the Couslands wasn't all that bad.

"Good morning, Warden Amell."

Sweet smile and sweet voice. Josslyn decided she didn't need to put any honey in her tea. The air was saturated with sweetness. She sat down across from the brother and sister, hoping the smile on her face was polite and not sardonic. As nobody was yelling about her people skills, she decided it must be.

"We'd like to accompany you when you leave this morning."

Joss was grateful she had yet to take a sip of her tea as she most likely would have sprayed the handsome man across from her. "Accompany us? You mean you want to come with us?"

Well that wasn't the tone she'd wanted to use. She'd tried to make it a polite inquiry but it came out sounding like she was questioning his sanity. Which she was, but there was no reason he had to know that. She really didn't understand everyone's desire to go tromping around the countryside with her. Perhaps if the weather was nicer and there weren't so many darkspawn and bandits, sure. But now? Not the time for tromping. At. All.

At least Fergus Cousland had a sense of humor. Joss saw the lines radiating from the corners of his eyes which meant he laughed and smiled a great deal. He even chuckled at her question, which was good because she was fairly sure some nobles would have been insulted by her tone.

He looked as though he could wrestle a bear and easily win. He had a very sharp sword and a crested shield on his back and highly polished armor. He would be handy to have in a fight, she was sure. But he was a noble. In fact, he was one of the highest ranking nobles in Ferelden. He should be rallying the other nobles to fight against Loghain or something, not offering to go walking around the countryside with her group. She told him that, as nicely as she could.

"Are you insane? We're fighting darkspawn and trying to enforce treaties that everyone misinterprets as a sign we're there to help with every little problem they have. Should we actually do the rather large favors for them, they'll think about helping save Ferelden from the Blight. This is not some little stroll in a park."

Teagan rested his hand lightly on her knee, a gesture that was meant to convey he thought her people skills were a bit off at the moment. She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Your Grace, what I mean is –" she began but he waved her apology aside with a grin.

"It may sound like I'm crazy, Warden Amell, but in truth, I think we're far safer with you than we would be if we made ourselves known. Howe, that murderous bastard, thinks we're dead. Until I can rally troops in our name, it's best he keep thinking that."

"Wouldn't you be safe at Castle Redcliffe?"

"I'm sure Loghain and Howe have spies in Redcliffe. From what Teagan told us, they sent someone to poison Eamon and it's possible that more than one agent was used. I wouldn't want to risk the villagers should it come to that. They've been through quite a bit, according to Alistair." Well that made sense, she gave him that.

"I understand that the mage who poisoned the arl is now a Warden," he added with a grin.

Joss looked at Jowan, who was busy shoveling porridge into his mouth at an alarming rate. "Yes, life is certainly full of interesting twists."

"I'd like to join the Wardens. It's why I went to Ostagar with my brother," Sweet Elissa said softly.

"You're a soldier?" Joss asked with a note of disbelief and incredulity that made Teagan tap her knee again.

"I am. I'm quite skilled with daggers."

Another Warden couldn't possibly hurt. If she made it through the Joining ritual. Joss had the idea that if Elissa died during the ritual, Joss would die shortly thereafter. She frowned. Dying wouldn't be her first choice.

"You're welcome to fight with us, Lady Elissa, but I'm not sure joining the Wardens is such a great idea."

"Duncan seemed to think it was. He assured my father that I'd make a fine Warden."

Well sure, but Duncan was conveniently not there at the moment so any retribution Fergus sought would be taken out on her, not the former Warden Commander of the Order of Secrets and Subterfuge. Which didn't make her any more inclined to allow the woman to join the Wardens.

Before she could comment, she noticed Alistair out of the corner of her eye. He was sitting at a table across the room and gesticulating wildly. For a minute she thought he might be on fire but then realized he was motioning that he wanted to talk in private. The finger to his lips gave it away.

"Hold that thought," she instructed the young woman and made her way to Alistair.

"What is it, Alistair? You look as though someone has put a frog down your armor or something."

"We need to talk. Privately."

"Oh, joy. More super secret stuff?"

They found a small room just off the common area. Actually, calling it a room was generous. Joss was fairly certain it was a closet. And one that smelled like dirty socks and rotting leather. She tried not to gag.

"So, what's the problem?" she asked, once her stomach had settled back into place again.

"Don't let her join."

"Because?"

Alistair, flustered and flushed, ran his hands through his already spiky hair. She wondered if she should tell him he'd left a bit of jam in his hair and decided not to.

"Wardens can't have babies."

"Excuse me?"

"I mean, they can with a non-Warden, though not easily. But two Wardens having a baby together is unheard of."

Josslyn took a deep breath and then another. "You mean to tell me that Duncan told you about the reproductive problems of Wardens but not how to make more Joining Juice or what it takes to kill the Archdemon? Andraste's tits, what kind of priorities do the Wardens have?"

Alistair's faced reddened even more. "Well, the subject about babies came up and he wanted me to know."

Joss didn't want to know why the subject had come up, she really didn't. So, naturally, she asked. "Why would that particular subject come up?"

His feet shuffling and his gaze lowered, Alistair mumbled, "He was explaining about – you know – s e x."

Her laughter gusted out of her. "Oh Alistair, you make me want to ruffle your hair and pinch your cheek."

"Please, please don't," he begged.

Joss rolled her eyes but kept her hands to herself. "Fine, fine. Why don't you go and send Lady Elissa here and I'll talk to her about why she shouldn't join the Wardens."

"What? No! You can't keep telling everyone Grey Warden secrets," Alistair protested.

She was surprised he didn't stomp his foot and she gave him credit for his restraint. She was not, however, dissuaded. As long as she had breath left in her, she would share the secrets with would-be recruits and worry about the consequences if and when the Wardens found out.

"You don't think people have the right to know? Seriously? Here, drink this. Not only does it taste and smell like rotten cabbage, it also prevents conception, causes nightmares and knocks your life expectancy into the dirt. What's not to love about that?"

"When you put it that way, I see your point."

Just as he was about to leave, it occurred to her that not wanting Elissa to join was much more personal than it should have been for Alistair. She grabbed his arm and dragged him back into the closet and shut the door with a thump.

"Why do you care about babies, and whether Lady Elissa can have them, just out of curiosity?"

"Yes, well, I'd rather not say, actually."

"And I'd rather not traipse across the length and breadth of Ferelden. Guess neither of us gets what we want."

Alistair hesitated, blushing once again. "I just – I know it doesn't matter to the Grey Wardens about being nobility – it's just that she is practically the last Cousland and all and, well…" Alistair trailed off, blushing brightly.

"And, well? And well, what?"

"I like her and maybe one day she'll like me and then you know, we could maybe get together and well – I want a family."

When it finally dawned on her what he was saying, Joss's knees felt weak and she discovered that the air in the closet had disappeared. Her little brother was becoming a man. He was talking about marriage, which the Order didn't think was a good idea, and he was talking about babies? Little Alistair? The world was spinning out of control, apparently. She took pity on him, at least momentarily.

"You know, Alistair, people who still have to spell the word, probably shouldn't actually _have_ sex."

"I hate you," he muttered, stalking out of the closet.

Joss was torn between laughter and tears. He was going to marry and have children after the Blight and for a minute she was so envious she nearly did start crying. Her lot was either the Tower or staying with the Wardens. Even if she survived, which seemed bloody unlikely, she didn't see how she could have a future with Teagan, given the prevailing attitude about mages and marriage.

Elissa turned out to be nice and not nearly as sweet as Josslyn had first thought. She was also much more intelligent than Joss had given her credit for. When she explained about the Joining, especially the possibility of death, the young woman was not happy. At. All.

"Why that dirty, rotten scoundrel! He never mentioned any of this to my father when he came to recruit me. Father told him no, but I insisted until he finally gave in. I'd like to kick that old reprobate in his…well, suffice it to say, he wouldn't have to worry about siring any children, Joining or not."

"Don't blame him too much, at least not about that. These are Warden secrets and I'd probably be executed if they knew I told you. So, in the interest of me not dying, let's just keep this between the two of us."

The young woman nodded. "I want to say something about Teagan while it's just the two of us."

Huzzah, just what she needed. In fact, Joss wanted to talk about Teagan and betrothals almost as much as she wanted to talk about her private life. Oh, right. It _was_ her private life. Sighing, she nodded slowly, reluctantly. She hoped Elissa would get the hint. She did not.

"I think Teagan is a wonderful man. I've always thought so. However, he seems quite happy with you and you seem happy with him. I'm really glad because I never wanted to marry him. Mother and Arl Eamon were determined to make the match but I don't think either of us really wanted it. I thought you should know."

Lovely, here was another noble who wasn't a total arse. She guessed that Fergus was, most likely, a decent noble as well. It was enough to make her head ache. And now, she supposed, she would have to treat them respectfully. Joss searched for something kind or polite to say in return.

"If you hurt Alistair, I will hunt you down and turn you into the ugliest toad Thedas has ever seen."

**~~~oOo~~~**

They made good time the first day, although Joss quickly got a headache from Shale's feet shaking the ground beneath them all as the golem walked along the rutted cart-path they were on. The walking rock heap complained about everything, mostly to Wynne, who the golem had taken to calling the Fussy Elder Mage, which made Joss smile contently.

In the afternoon of their second day, people began pairing off as the path became too narrow to travel more than two abreast. Fergus and Teagan were leading the way, talking about manly things such as hunting and weapons. Joss was happy to let them walk ahead of her as she found both subjects boring.

Somehow_, _Joss found herself walking with Morrigan. She wondered if hunting and weaponry might not be a better alternative but Teagan and Fergus had rounded a bend in the path and were out of sight. She sighed regretfully.

"Wings tired?" she asked the witch.

"I wish to discuss something with you, if you will allow it."

Joss almost stopped dead in her tracks. Morrigan's tone was actually less frosty than normal and there was almost a note of reconciliation in it. Ha! Like that would ever happen. Of course, she'd never have thought she'd be head over heels in love with a noble either.

"I'm listening," Joss said, even more shocked by the conciliatory note in her own voice. Maker's baked balls, the world was surely coming to an end.

"I have only one means of freedom from my mother and I truly wish to be free of her. I will not allow her to claim my body as her own. Nor will I spend my life waiting for her to try."

Joss stopped walking and turned to look at the beautiful witch, whose mysterious top was still perfectly placed and pristine. "You believe that the soul of the Old God will free you?"

"I believe that such a child can secure my freedom, yes."

"Look, I can't let you do that, Morrigan. I have no idea what unleashing the soul of an Old God would do to us mortals, but nothing good springs to mind."

Morrigan's disappointment flashed across her features before they settled into their habitual haughty expression. "Have you spoken to the other Wardens about this offer I have made?"

"No, and if you do, I'll make sure you are left on your own in the middle of nowhere. I'll let them know that one of us is going to die but I won't let them know about your offer."

"So, you do not trust your Wardens to make their own decisions?" the woman sneered, her golden eyes narrowed.

"I don't trust men not to want to have sex with you. Who wouldn't want to bed a woman with magical mounds? Makes one wonder what other forms of magic you practice on your body."

"You are a deeply disturbed woman," Morrigan huffed.

"I get that a lot," Joss said, grinning.

She glanced up to see that the others were continuing on. They were nearing the lofty peaks of the Frostbacks and Joss wasn't looking forward to the climb that faced them. Why did Haven have to sit in a valley high in the mountains? She started forward but Morrigan spoke again.

"I would ask to remain with you for now. At present I have nowhere else to go," the witch finally said, her voice no longer haughty or disdainful. She sounded just a bit lost, actually.

Joss looked at the woman, feeling a stirring of pity. Andraste's bristly beard! She was turning into a kind person. How Petra and Niall would laugh to see her being nice. Gah, she hoped the others couldn't hear her.

"Stay as long as you need to, Morrigan. Maybe we can figure out something to keep your mother from finding you or possessing you. I mean something other than creating an Old God Baby."

"Perhaps. Or perhaps you will see the wisdom of my offer."

That didn't seem likely. Joss gave a huff of laughter at that thought. Her entire life these past months seemed unlikely. Never say never, she thought, with a slight shake of her head.

"I have Petra doing some research into this. Who knows what a Tower mage might find."

Morrigan snorted, but with less derision than usual and Joss considered that a win. Before she could start walking again, Morrigan shape-shifted into a raven and flew off, leaving Joss hurrying after the group. If there was a way to save Morrigan that didn't involve babies, she would try and find it. She had no idea why she cared. She was not happy to discover she did.

The rest of the day was spent trying to keep her legs from screaming in protest at the steady incline of their trail. This was when she missed the Tower the most. Sure, there were lots of stairs, but that was entirely different than the slow gradual incline mile after mile. This was torture on her leg muscles and her lungs.

As they continued climbing, the air became colder and she started seeing patches of snow on the ground. Jowan's nose began to bleed. Josslyn's lungs were on fire. She wanted to find a soft bed and call it a day.

"That bloody urn better be there," she grumbled between gasps.

"You're used to the Tower, surely this climb isn't that much different," Cathair said, her breathing controlled and even. She could very easily hate Cathair for that.

"Stairs are different. One doesn't get nosebleeds from climbing them."

"Then pretend these are stairs. Just take the same size steps and use your staff to pull you along."

"Oh yes, a stairway to Haven. Sounds heavenly," Joss panted.

Maker, must they climb every mountain? Teagan came up, his face a bit more pink than normal, but breathing evenly. She glared at him. He smiled sympathetically, if just a bit smugly. She considered sending a jolt of electricity into him but it didn't really seem worth the effort.

Finally, her sides aching, she called a halt for the day. She watched from her perch on a boulder as camp was set up. If she wasn't so tired, she'd feel guilty about not helping but she didn't have the energy.

That night, as Alistair began to assign the watch, Shale spoke up. "The Blushing One need not bother. I do not require rest_, _as squishy creatures do."

"Are you sure? It might get lonely."

Shale, voice dry and sarcastic, replied, "If I ever reach a point where I am lonely for It, I will gladly return to Honnleath and become a statue."

"Oh Shale, that would be a shame. You're so clever and so big!" Sister Light and Frothy breathed, obviously enraptured by the pile of boulders that stood guard.

"Don't they make a lovely couple? She's as smart as a box of rocks and Shale _is_ a box of rocks," Joss murmured against Teagan's shoulder. His rumble of laughter shook her slightly and she felt a moment of unexpected happiness. It was the altitude, she felt sure.

The following afternoon they actually did find stairs carved into the mountainside, along with a faded signpost for Haven. Apparently it wasn't just the lack of stairs that robbed Joss of breath and made her thighs quiver and shriek as the stairs caused the same symptoms. And just when she was sure she couldn't force another step out of her protesting legs, they came to Haven.

It was anything but a haven as it turned out. A guard, in heavy armor, stopped them with a belligerent growl. "Turn back."

"We have business here," Joss told him in a firm and confident voice. Or it would have sounded firm and confident had she actually been able to breathe.

"No, you do not."

"There are more than a dozen of us, including four mages and a huge rock edifice. Are you positive you want to be quite so surly with us?" she asked, calling forth her magic and shaping a small fireball that she let dance between her palms.

She was rather impressed with herself. He wasn't. With a commanding cry, he brought out his sword. People in the small cottages near the gates tumbled out, armed and dangerous.

"You stupid arse," she groused and hit him with the fireball that had been dancing along her fingertips. His loss.

After they were done fighting to the death, because nothing was ever easy, Joss, Zevran and Alistair went from cottage to cottage, searching for more friendly citizens of Haven. There were none. But they found a bloody altar, a pair of Antivan boots that Zev fell in love with and stroked a bit too fondly for Josslyn's comfort, and a store that had very little in it except for the remains of what appeared to be a knight of Redcliffe.

"Welcome to Haven, population now zero," Joss said wearily.

"Alas, my lovely Warden, I regret to inform you that you are wrong. Do you not hear the lovely chanting?"

Joss leaned against her staff and tilted her head to one side. Damned if the assassin wasn't right. It was not their day, apparently.

"Grab the others and let's see if we're in time for Evensong. Hopefully the Maker won't strike me down when I enter."

The Maker did not strike her down, as it turned out.

Father Eirik, however, did.


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: **_Thank you, Lisa, for the wonderful, and quick, beta!_

**Josslyn Amell and the Temple of Doom **

"Here's the plan. Alistair, Zevran, Styx, Leliana and I will go into the chantry while the rest of you stay out here and make sure no more crazy types try to kill us. This shouldn't take more than a minute or two."

"And if there's trouble in there?" Cathair asked, hand on the hilt of her sword.

"If there's trouble I expect a daring rescue from all of you," she replied and winked at Teagan.

"My dear, I would feel much better were I to accompany you."

Joss smiled at her favorite noble. "What can possibly go wrong? We go in, we ask a question or two and we're back," she replied confidently. Having Sister Leliana of The Eternally Bizarre wouldn't hurt either. She could speak religious rhetoric with the best of them.

The door sounded like an old woman screaming in agony as Joss opened it but she stepped into the building like she owned it. Alistair and Zevran came to stand beside her and Styx growled menacingly at the group in front of them. The door clanged shut with another wailing protest.

"Just once, I'd like to walk into one of these places and discover a lively dance or an orgy. Yes, definitely an orgy. But alas, I am not so fortunate," Zevran muttered, sighing disconsolately.

Joss, still standing at the back of the chapel, smiled sympathetically. "Ah, cheer up, my dear assassin. A brawl is almost as much fun as sex."

"You know me entirely too well, my dear Warden."

Clearing her throat, Joss spoke into the hush that had fallen at their arrival. "Evening, folks. Carry on. We're just here for Brother Genitalia."

"Tivi. Gen uh _tee vee_," Alistair whispered.

"I don't think it matters to them," she replied, eyeing what had to be the ugliest Revered Mother she had ever seen.

The woman had a mangy grey beard and the flattest chest Joss had had ever encountered. Some women, it seemed, just didn't age well. Or maybe it was a Revered Father? Yes, she'd go with that as it was much less unsettling.

Her eyes flicked from one person to another, all gathered in solemn silence, and apparently kneeling in prayer before they'd entered. They now had their beady eyes fixed on her and she noted an eerie similarity in their appearance. One or two smiled, and not in a welcoming way, showing gapped teeth. They all bore a striking resemblance to the Revered Whatever standing at the front of the room. None of them looked terribly intelligent.

"And this, boys and girls, is why you never, ever, ever inbreed," Joss muttered.

"Welcome to our service. I'm Father Eirik. What brings you so far off the beaten path?"

The Revered Father smiled as he waited for Joss to answer, but if winter could smile, it would look just like that, Joss felt certain. She decided to be courteous just in case the rabid-looking parishioners were actually a mob waiting to attack, which seemed entirely likely, given their brethren's less than welcoming greeting in the town.

"We don't want any trouble from you lot of er…you lot. Just tell us where Brother Gingersnap is and we'll be on our way."

"We won't answer any inquires from you. It's our sacred duty to protect Her.

When Father Fanatic uttered those words, Joss felt a shiver run from her toes up through her spine to end at the base of her skull. Actually, she thought, it was the tone that made it sound so ominous.

"No, no, no. A _brother_, not a sister," Alistair interjected.

"You are demons sent to destroy the temple," the old man replied. "But Andraste is here with us, reborn and among us, Her chosen. She will not allow it! She will burn you with Her righteous fire!"

Well that wasn't good. At. All. Joss heard Alistair shift his feet and then the quiet hiss of a blade being drawn. She suddenly regretted having the others remain on guard duty _outside_ the building. Guarding _inside_ would have been a much smarter plan. She'd add that to the growing list of mistakes she'd made.

"Kill the blasphemers!" someone shouted. Like she hadn't been called that before? At least now she knew where Keili had come from. Yes, she definitely saw the resemblance between the wild-eyed people of Haven and the craziest apprentice she'd ever known.

Before she could grab her staff and start chanting a spell, she was lifted off her feet and propelled backward by an invisible fist hitting her mid-chest. She hit the wall with a bone-jarring smack that took all her breath and tossed it away. Stars and other odd shapes danced in front of her eyes and the room suddenly looked much darker. Who had turned down the lamps? It seemed an odd thing to do, really. She chuckled weakly. Maybe it was because her eyes were closed. She blinked. No, that wasn't it.

The door screeched open, metal on metal, making her teeth ache and doing nothing to relieve the pounding in her head. To her relief, it was the rest of her companions. She watched from her vantage point on the floor as carnage reigned supreme.

"Don't kill the old ma..." she started to yell but it was too late. Father Eirik's head went sailing into the air like a fat grey goose in flight, given wings by the sharp edge of Alistair's sword.

"Never mind," she mumbled and then snickered as Shale flinched, batting the head out of the air. It hit the ground and rolled a few feet before resting near Josslyn. Apparently she wasn't the only one who thought it had resembled a bird.

Before long the fight ended. The poor, demented fools never really had a chance. As soon as the last man fell, Teagan was beside her, solicitous and stern, but Joss was saved from a lecture because a disembodied voice called out just as Teagan opened his mouth to speak.

"Who's out there?" the voice asked. "What's going on?"

"Holy Maker, is that – is that Andraste?" Sister Off-Her-Rocker whispered reverently.

"Not unless Andraste was really Andre and just masquerading as a woman. And if that's the case, I can't imagine the Maker was too pleased on their wedding night."

Leliana gasped, her bee-stung lips forming a perfect "oh" as she stared, aghast, at Joss. Joss smiled serenely, not at all afraid of being struck down by the Maker. If he hadn't done so the minute she stepped into the house of worship, he wasn't likely to after that utterance. Which was just as well; she'd already been struck once for the day and that really was her limit.

Teagan, a bemused expression on his face, opened his mouth to speak again and, once again, the unearthly voice called out for help. He blinked in surprise.

"I didn't know you could project your voice like that," she commented as he helped her stand. She wobbled but didn't fall down, which she was grateful for.

"Everyone search for some way to get to that voice!" Alistair called out with such authority that Joss briefly wondered if he'd been possessed by the spirit of a former general.

She watched her companions scatter, content not to move until the dancing lights in her vision cleared. Styx came to her, a medallion hanging from his mouth. It was a gaudy red and yellow affair with a bright orange center dangling from a bright green cord.

"Sorry, Styx, that's way too flashy for my tastes."

Styx nudged her and barked. Loudly. In the interest of not going deaf, she reached down and took the proffered gift. It truly was ghastly looking. She slipped it into her hip kit. Styx panted happily and trotted off. Apparently Styx has a jewelry fetish, she thought with a grin, remembering the amulet he had also gifted her with. An odd fetish for a dog to have. She wondered briefly if he was trying to let her know that he didn't like his plain black collar.

After a few moments of watching her companions groping walls and kicking them in frustration, she watched Shale begin to pummel the wall with huge stony hands. In no time there was a large hole in the wall. Joss beamed at Alistair.

"Didn't I tell you Shale would make a great battering ram?"

A man was lying on the floor, moaning and trying to sit up. Joss found herself mesmerized by the largest nose she had ever seen and missed the first few words he spoke.

"Are you here to finish me off?" he asked a bit impatiently, as if he'd asked before, which he probably had.

With great effort, Joss forced herself to look away from the man's nose. Her eyes settled on a pair of magnificent ears to go with the nose. She snorted back the laughter that tickled her throat.

"Nose…I mean, no, we're looking for Brother G…" she began only to be interrupted.

"Genitivi," Alistair supplied quickly, and she swore she heard several sighs of relief.

"I'm Brother Ferdinand Cyrano Genitivi," the man affirmed and smiled in obvious relief at being saved.

Once she had explained their reason for hunting him down, he proudly told the group that he knew the urn was somewhere nearby. Naturally_,_ he didn't have it. That would have been much too easy. She sighed loudly before ordering Wynne to heal the man.

"I just need to get the medallion Father Eirik wore and that should open the temple."

"Medallion? You mean this hideous thing?" Joss asked, rummaging around in her hip kit and extracting the offending item from its depths.

"Yes. Help me up and we'll go to the temple now. From all my research, I'm sure the urn is there."

Fergus stepped forward and pulled the man to his feet, grinning. Joss noticed that Fergus was also fascinated with the brother's proboscis. Casting a surreptitious glance at her group of companions, she noted that all, save Shale and Morrigan, were staring at the great white nose.

They left the town of Haven, and its mostly dead occupants, behind them and climbed along a steep path to a large set of doors carved into a mountain. The medallion unfolded and fit into a large indentation in the metal doors, the brother claimed. The huge doors shrieked in protest as Randal and Cathair pushed them open. Joss shivered, hoping they hadn't just released some evil entity into the world.

"It's beautiful," Brother Genitivi uttered as he stepped into the enormous room.

"And cold. And gloomy," Joss agreed, shivering again. "And where there's gloom, there's almost always doom," she sighed.

"But the Sacred Ashes of Andraste are here, how can it possibly be gloomy?" Sister Half-A-Beat-Away-From-Insanity enthused.

"Right, because Andraste had a life full of happiness and joy. Nothing more fun than being burned at the stake, I always say," Joss retorted, trying not to shiver as her words echoed in the vast chamber. Gloom and doom, she was sure of it.

Brother Genitivi had no idea where the urn might actually be, other than somewhere in the cavernous building, which was actually carved into the side of the mountain. Several false starts led the group right back to the main chamber.

"Maker's freckled arse, it will take us days to explore this place," Joss grumbled.

"Perhaps we should split up and go off in different directions."

"Tomorrow morning. It's already late and I think we've killed our quota of crazies for the day," Joss replied firmly.

"But we're so close," Wynne protested. "I think we should continue."

"I agree with Enchanter Amell. It's been a long day," Fergus said quietly but with as much steel in his voice as in the sword hanging from his belt.

Joss flashed him a smile of thanks and began the process of setting up camp. Except they really couldn't set up tents on the cold, hard floor of the vast chamber. She sighed. So much for taking advantage of Teagan's natural body heat. He gave her a sympathetic look as she unrolled her bedding as close to his as she could.

"I suppose we'll have to behave with Granny Wynne watching our every move," Joss muttered as she smoothed the thick wool blanket.

"It will be a great sacrifice on my part," Teagan agreed.

Joss glanced at him and saw the mirth dancing in his eyes. She felt a peculiar flutter in her stomach and wiggled closer to him. Heedless of the others, she kissed him softly.

"Have I told you today that I hate how much I love you?" she asked.

"Yes, but I never tire of hearing it."

"Lovely, then I can repeat myself without upsetting you. I hate how much I love you," she told him.

Supper was a conglomeration of dry rations, watery stew, and weak tea. The fire had a strange blue aura and seemed to need constant attention. Their breathing frosted the air and Joss was even sorrier that she wouldn't be snuggled against Teagan's warmth. The cavern was freezing, as was Joss as she huddled into her cloak and blanket.

After several hours of tossing and turning and listening to her various companions settle for the night, she rose. Someone was snoring loud enough to raise the dead. And that was a thought she could have done without. She looked around at everyone's sleeping forms and then saw Shale, standing some distance away.

"It seems fond of the Bearded One," Shale remarked.

"The Bearded One? Really? That's the best you can do?"

"It would prefer The Goateed One?"

Joss shivered, and not from the cold. "No! That's just – ugh – what a horrible mental picture of goats."

"It has an aversion to goats?"

"No, not really. They make great sacrifices," Joss joked.

"I suggest using birds for Its sacrifices. They make an agreeable sound when crushed."

"Like Father Eirik?" Joss snickered.

"It finds that incident amusing, does It?"

"It does. It thought he resembled a grey goose on Feastday."

Shale made a noise that sounded like a rockslide. Joss took a step away, in case the stone golem was about to fall apart, showering her in pebbles. Was that the way a golem laughed? Or did golems actually laugh?

"Do you have nicknames for all of us?" she asked, once she determined that Shale wasn't coming undone.

"No."

"Really? Given your sense of humor, I'd have guessed otherwise. What do you call Wynne?"

"Wynne is the fussy, elder mage?"

"Exactly."

"The Wizened One."

Joss snorted. "And Zevran?"

"The Painted Elf."

"If you were to call me something other than 'It' what would it be?"

"Nothing. I find that 'It' is appropriate."

Joss felt faintly disappointed but considering Teagan's name, she supposed she should be relieved. "Are you at all curious about your origins?"

"It is curious, I assume? I have no recollection of my origins. I am as prone to forgetfulness as any squishy being, and when I become bored I simply stop paying attention."

"Interesting. Do you get bored often?"

There was a long pause and Joss repeated her question. When Shale didn't answer again, Joss chuckled. "Message received, finally. I'll leave you to your activities, whatever they might be."

"It is not as dense as I suspected."

That struck Joss as funny and she snorted. She wasn't nearly as dense as a stone golem. She had a growing fondness for Shale. Not that she'd ever tell the sarcastic pile of rocks. "High praise, indeed," she chuckled.

She wandered back to her bed, her feet chunks of ice_, _and slipped under the thick wool blanket. Teagan was curled on his side and she raised her head, glancing around to make sure no-one was watching her. Scooting up beside him, she wriggled her feet under his blanket and sighed happily as they encountered his warm skin.

"You're freezing," Teagan mumbled sleepily.

"No, no. It's just a dream," she whispered before drifting off to sleep.

Morning light filtered through the gaps in the ceiling and Joss sat up, stiff and aching. Others were stirring and Alistair was clanging pots and pans as he tried to make porridge and tea. She was about to offer assistance_,_ because his tea often tasted like dishwater_, _when she heard Elissa's dulcet tones explaining how to steep tea.

After a quick meal, Joss pulled Alistair aside. He grinned and held up a hand. "I know what to do in case you don't come back."

Joss barely resisted the impulse to pinch his cheek. Instead she cleared her throat and nodded. As she turned away, she saw Elissa Cousland standing with her brother. Before leaving, Joss mouthed one word and watched as Elissa's cornflower blue eyes widened. Joss smiled brightly and turned to join her group.

"What was that about?" Teagan asked as they started off. "What are you up to?"

"I don't know what you mean," Joss replied innocently.

They split into two groups. Morrigan, Shale, Leliana, Randal and Wynne went in one direction, while Jowan, Cathair, Styx, Teagan and Zevran stayed with her. The others stayed to keep an eye on their new best friend, Brother Gingerbread.

As they plodded along in the cold gloom of the temple's many chambers, they came across a variety of lunatics and a bronto. How a bunch of fanatics living in Haven came to have a bronto was the cause of much speculation and joking. Joss suspected the inbreeding had led to unhealthy appetites. The thought made her feel unclean and she shivered. Teagan gave her a look that clearly asked: _I don't really want to know what you're thinking, do I?_

"No, you really don't," she answered aloud.

The temple gave way to caverns and tunnels filled with yet more crazy cultists. It was then that Joss heard a faint humming but when she asked the others if they'd also heard it, they all shook their heads. The humming stayed with her, like bees buzzing in the distance.

As they continued following the winding corridors, Joss got the distinct impression they were climbing. In fact, her legs let her know that's exactly what they were doing. They entered a large cavern, filled with a blue light and yet more cultists. Among the cultists were small dragons. Dragonettes? Dragonlings? Whatever they were called, they breathed fire and belched smoke and were royally tough to kill, as Zev remarked after a long fight.

Jowan giggled. "Royally tough to kill," he said, giggling again.

Joss eyed him warily. The remark was not all that funny, but Jowan continued giggling. "Jowan?"

"I'm fine, just fine," he tittered. "It's just my head feels like it's floating," he added with a gust of laughter. "We all float down here."

"Actually, my dear blood mage, we are ascending, not descending."

"Oh. Really? It feels like I'm going down." This was punctuated by a howl of laughter, which made Styx howl in response.

She stared at Jowan, frowning. His eyes were dilated and he had a soft blue glow emanating from him. She could almost feel his magic coming off him in faintly shimmering waves. "Jowan, how many lyrium potions have you had?"

"Me? None. I hate the taste of that stuff. Tastes like Cook Abbot's syrup got mixed in with her cooked cabbage."

She giggled, an irrepressible noise that refused to be contained, almost like hiccups. More giggles bubbled up. She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle them but they continued; insidious demons.

"Perhaps we should take a short rest?" Teagan suggested in concern.

Joss tried to think serious thoughts but the giggles rose up and spilled over. Jowan joined her.

"Lyrium. Too much," she finally managed. "We must be near a vein of it or something."

"Are you in danger?"

"Not yet. At least not unless one can actually laugh themselves to death?" she asked, merrily laughing. Maker's brass balls, her sides were beginning to ache!

"Should Teagan smite you?" Zevran asked, his usual smile replaced with a barely discernable frown. She patted his cheek and giggled.

"No need. But stand back when we cast," Jowan answered.

Joss sank onto the floor of the cavern and continued laughing. Teagan sat down beside her, his concern giving way to a wary unease. "Not to worry, sweet man, I'm not going crazy," she said and then slapped her forehead. He leaned away from her, clearly thinking otherwise and causing more laughter.

"I know why these cultists are crazy! They've been exposed to lyrium for Maker knows how long."

"Lyrium exposure drives one mad?" Teagan asked and Joss, even as out of control as her thoughts were, recognized fear in his voice.

"Not in small doses, but these people have been exposed to it their whole lives and carving out these tunnels exposed them to even more of it. It's surprising the women don't have two-headed babies."

Jowan was laughing again, gales of laughter that doubled him up. Cathair came over and reached down, hauling him to his feet and shaking him. "Snap out of it, Jowan. This is serious business."

Jowan made a gurgling noise as he tried to stop laughing. His eyes were glittering with tears of laughter and he shook his head helplessly as another paroxysm rattled through him.

"Don't be mad, Cathy. I can't help it."

Cathy? Really? Joss let out a little giggle and then quickly covered her mouth, trying to suppress it. She didn't want Cathair to shake her.

"We need to keep going. The sooner we find the damned urn, the sooner we can get out of here. But I'm betting the magical property of the ashes has to do with them being infused with lyrium. If there even _is_ an urn of ashes."

Teagan helped her to her feet and they continued on through the winding tunnels. Only to find a dead end. "I'm going to kill the idiot that created these tunnels and didn't bother making a map of them or marking the trail in some way. Bunch of morons."

Eventually they came to a brightly-lit chamber where a man, wearing a huge axe on his back, stood waiting for them. He had passed crazy and gone on to righteous insanity. He believed that Andraste was reborn in the form of a dragon, which made Joss howl with laughter. Jowan joined her.

"You know nothing! Andraste revealed herself to us! We are her chosen!" he yelled, reaching for his weapon.

"I have the perfect mate for you, Kolgrim. Wouldn't you rather forget this business and meet her? A cute little redhead. Not quite as crazy as you, but she has visions from the Maker, so she's close."

"Blasphemers! Defilers!"

Oh right, because she couldn't go a day without being called a blasphemer. Idiot.

"Jowan, take that mage on the right, I'll go left!"

Joss felt all-powerful with the lyrium fueling her spells. With little effort she managed to create a huge storm, covering the entire chamber. She winced as she saw Cathair struck by a stray bolt of lightning but there was no stopping the spell as it spun around them, completely out of control. She hadn't expected that. At. All. She realized _she_ was also out of control as she started giggling.

"Smite me, Teagan!" she yelled above the roaring storm, dimly aware of her maniacal laughter.

He didn't hesitate, the bastard. The smite caught her full force and sent her staggering backwards, where she collided with an outcropping of granite-covered lyrium. Her wind sailed out of her as she watched her storm fizzle out and die, just about the same time that Father "Madman" Kolgrim also died. Jowan joined her, looking dazed and faintly green.

"Well, that was certainly exciting, my lovely Warden," Zevran sighed, still slightly winded.

"And still no bloody urn."

Jowan started giggling again and Joss shook her head. "And we need to get out of this mountain of lyrium we're trapped in before we lose Jowan to the dark side."

Cathair, yanking Jowan along by his sleeve, found a large, ornately-carved door at one end of the chamber and they stumbled out into daylight, blinded by the bright sun overhead.

Across a small field from them was another intricately-carved door in the side of a mountain. Or maybe it was the same mountain. Joss realized her perspective was a bit skewed by lyrium.

"That door has got to be it, right? I mean, what else can these cultists throw at us?"

A high dragon's mighty roar and the beat of leathery wings drowned out any reply.

"Holy Andraste," Cathair breathed in awe.


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: **_This chapter was supposed to be about the Urn but Randal high-jacked it. Enaid, I'm looking at you. ;) Joss takes over late in the chapter.  
Thank you, Lisa, for taking time out from your busy schedule to beta this! You are amazing!_

**Dead Dragon in the Middle of the Road**

Randal was not particularly happy. He was, in fact, beginning to understand why Joss found Wynne so irritating. The woman was trying to direct his group through the maze of tunnels. Her _tsk, tsking_, which was nearly constant, made him want to punch her in the mouth. That bothered him because his father had raised him to be a gentleman and respect women. He wondered if she really counted as a woman, though. She did house a spirit which made her mostly abomination. At least that's how he would justify it should he finally give in to his desire to hit her.

"We need to go left here, young man," Wynne tutted in disapproval.

Randal wondered how Wynne would look with a boot up her arse. He was seriously tempted to plant one of his there and find out. It was a shame, really, that he only had the one pair with him.

Joss had pulled him aside and told him not to put up with Wynne_, _and he was nothing if not a good soldier. He just wasn't sure how far he could go in silencing her.

Sighing, he turned around to glare at Wynne. He felt his mouth drop open. She was glowing. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. Yes, definitely glowing. His gaze moved to the other mage in his party. Once he was able to lift his eyes from Morrigan's distracting assets, he noted that she was not glowing and that she wore her usual faint sneer.

"The Wizened One is incorrect," Shale interrupted. "The Tin Man is correct."

"This is not tin, it's silverite!" Randal insisted.

"Perhaps if It polished the armor on occasion It would appear less tin-like in appearance."

Randal rolled his eyes. While he was relieved to have the support of the golem, he was still trying to figure out why Wynne was glowing. He knew she housed a Fade spirit of some kind but he'd never actually seen it. Was it manifesting itself now? If so, why? He inched his fingers along until they rested on the hilt of his sword. Shoul he run her through if she went wonky? Should he smite her?

Wynne made a clucking sound of annoyance and Randal was immediately reminded of Rooster Alistair. He thought an old hen would be the perfect transmogrification for Wynne and wondered if Jowan could manage it.

"Wynne? You seem a bit – uh - off. Is something wrong?" he finally asked.

Wynne's eyebrows arched and she took on a somewhat belligerent stance. "I'm perfectly fine," she snapped. "But we're wasting time. We need to go left."

"Do not be foolish, old woman. We have taken that path before," Morrigan said in annoyance.

Wynne seemed to glow more brightly at Morrigan's words. Randal blinked again.

"Wynne, don't make me smite you," he warned in a low, firm voice. Maker, he sounded just like his father. When had that happened? He'd spent most of his life swearing he wouldn't ever be his father.

"For disagreeing with you? You wouldn't dare!" she huffed, hands on her hips.

"Oh, Wynne, your eyes are glowing quite beautifully. That's such a youthful look for you!" Leliana lisped in awe.

Randal couldn't help but think the red-haired woman had taken a few blows to the head too many. He wasn't sure if he pitied her or was scared of her. Mostly_, _he tried to ignore her.

"'Tis the lyrium in the walls. I have been aware of it for some time," Morrigan said with just a hint of humor in words.

"Lyrium? You mean that blue stuff you mages swill?" Randal asked, scratching his chin. He had no idea what that might mean and he really didn't want to know, but Wynne was looking more like a spirit than a human and he didn't like that idea one bit.

"Will a smite help?" he finally asked.

"You keep your smite to yourself, young man," Wynne began with an angry glare. Her hair was beginning to form a white nimbus around her head. "I have everything under control."

Sparks chased along her forearms as she huffed with self-importance. She certainly didn't look like she had everything – or anything, for that matter – under control. Josslyn's admonition not to take any guff from the older woman rang in his head. If he had to upset one of the women, he'd rather upset Wynne. The thought of spending his remaining years as a toad made that decision quite easy.

The smite knocked Wynne arse-over-teakettle. She was a blur of gold and red robes and black stockings. A shoe went flying across the cavern and he ducked as it sailed over his head. She landed in a heap and immediately let out a long howl of outrage. He took a deep, calming breath and prepared another smite.

The old battleaxe was on her feet and appeared to be readying a spell. Randal smiled grimly as the woman, having just regained her footing, was tossed heels-over-head. She landed with her legs waving wildly in the air. That was a sight that made him want to rip his own eyes out but he thought that might be overkill. He closed them instead.

"Young man, if you do that again, I will fry you!" Wynne boomed in a deep voice that echoed off the cavern walls. Not her usual prim, prissy voice at all.

"Apparently Fade spirits aren't susceptible to smites?" Randal whispered as an aside to Morrigan.

"I believe it merely requires a more powerful smite," Morrigan disagreed, soundly oddly pleased.

It occurred to Randal, as he set about gathering his scattered focus, that Morrigan was enjoying the sight of Wynne flying through the air and landing on her arse entirely too much. She looked as near to smiling as he had ever seen and he'd made a habit of keeping an eye on the swamp witch, or at least parts of her.

It took smiting Wynne two more times before the glowing became less noticeable and the deep timbre of her voice disappeared. She was very angry, in a cold and implacable way that filled Randal with a nervous dread. Hopefully_, _they could find the other group before things got completely out of hand.

"If It wishes to prevent the Wizened One from becoming more powerful, perhaps vacating this area would be wise?" Shale suggested condescendingly.

That made a great deal of sense. He reluctantly reached down to help Wynne to her feet but she declined his help and managed to find her footing on her own. She stood with her chin tilted and hands folded across her chest, all frosted glares.

He was heartily relieved that she didn't know any transmogrification spells, or at least none that she had ever mentioned. He wouldn't put it past her to simply be hiding her abilities. From what he'd seen, she was a bit of a hypocrite and just a bit dodgy. People who worked so hard to be obeyed generally shouldn't be, he'd learned.

"Does It intend to stare at the Wizened One all day?" Shale asked.

Randal shook his head and started forward. He wasn't going to argue with Shale about what constituted an 'It' because he was certain he would lose. If Joss hadn't managed it, he didn't have a hope. He continued forward and then stopped again to look back at Morrigan as a new thought struck him.

"Why aren't you doing that whole glowing thing?"

"I am not some carefully cultivated, _pruned_ plant. I was trained to anticipate such things," she replied disdainfully.

Wynne huffed at that and looked ready to cast another spell. "I am not a prune!"

The smite hit her upside the head and she went flying backwards. Randal was prepared for a spell to hit him, already readying another smite. She struggled to sit up, rubbing her head, obviously woozy. Leliana hoisted her up and gently brushed the dirt and cobwebs from the woman's robes.

Randal and Wynne glared at each other for several moments. He hefted his sword and waited for her to so much as twitch. She seemed to keep losing focus and she was swaying as she stood there. Tense moments passed and then she shrugged and looked away, her mouth in a prim little line. He sheathed his sword.

They started off again. Wynne's earlier belligerence gave way to a slurring monologue which seemed to be directed at herself. Randal readied another smite, just in case, and his hand twitched on his sword. He was going to have a long talk with Joss if they ever managed to get out of the labyrinth of tunnels and caves.

"It sheems like we've been here sheveral timesh."

Randal ignored her. Shale was now leading the group and he felt confident that a moving mound of stone would know its way around a mountain of lyrium and rock. Shale led them through a long, winding tunnel that emptied into a large chamber, full of bodies.

"I shee dead people," Wynne slurred and stumbled forward, before tripping over a dead man who had a huge axe beside him.

She reached out and picked up a horn, or what looked like a horn. She held it out with a smirk, as if showing off her new toy. Randal wouldn't touch her toy on a dare, new or otherwise, but he helped her up and examined the horn. Intricately carved dragons and maidens danced across its surface.

"Itsh mine," the old crone muttered, holding it to her bosom and lurching forward.

"Sure, Wynne, all yours," he agreed, shuddering. He stepped around her and continued on. A steady stream of curses played in his head. He'd love to fling them all at Joss but knew that green was not his best color.

He tried to pick his way carefully through the debris and dead bodies, taking pathetically dainty, mincing steps. Wynne was right behind him, nearly in his backpack, and that made him faintly nauseous. He also wanted out of the cavern in the worst possible way.

Inevitably, he tripped and went sprawling. He felt himself falling and was able to roll his eyes before landing in a pile of mangled bodies. Wynne fell down on top of him and he heard a high-pitched scream that sounded very much like his younger sister screaming after he'd tossed a dead snake at her.

"Get her off! Get her off!" Not his finest moment, but one he was sure he could be forgiven for.

"Shomeone help me up," Wynne slurred.

"Shale, get us out of here!" Randal ordered once he was on his feet again. He stomped onward. To the Void with not trampling on dead bodies. He'd rather step on a dozen of them than have Wynne land on top of him again.

They found a large set of doors that were covered in the same intricate carvings as the horn. Dancing dragons and frolicking maidens adorned it. Shale pushed the doors open and the light of day nearly blinded them.

Randal sighed in relief. The other party stood quietly by the door, as if waiting for them.

"Thank the Maker!" he exclaimed. Would kneeling and kissing the ground be too much, he wondered and, taking a look at all the others, who seemed remarkably somber, decided it would be.

"Shhh!" Joss hissed, pointing to the top of a rise, where a dragon was curled up watching them with sleepy red eyes.

Randal stared up at the beast and wondered why they didn't just slink back inside but then he noticed the door, and the temple it was attached to, across a large flat expanse of rock. A surprisingly wide road wound from the door of the caverns to the other door. A road that was being watched by the very menacing_-_looking, and huge, dragon. He was grateful _not_ to be making decisions and stood waiting for Josslyn to give him orders.

He noticed everyone as still intact and he was quite pleased with himself for leading his first group into danger and not losing anyone. Though if Joss ever stuck him with Wynne and Leliana at the same time again he wasn't so sure his group would come back unscathed.

Silence enveloped them as everyone eyed the dragon warily. Or at least some of them were eyeing the dragon. Randal noticed that Wynne was still eyeing her newly_-_acquired horn and waving it Leliana. He put a finger to his lips, which only elicited a glare from the old crone.

"Leliana, ish thish a mushical horn?" she asked, blinking blearily at Leliana in the bright sunshine.

Several people hissed at her to be silent and Wynne glared at each of them in turn before returning her gaze to Leliana.

"Yes, let me show you," the younger woman chirped and took the horn from the mage.

Randal felt a stirring of unease. Hadn't there been dragons on that horn? Dragons like the dragons on the door they'd just come through? Dragons like the massive one sitting on a hill ready to eat them the minute it was disturbed?

"No! Don't blow that!" he shouted but it was too late.

A long mournful note hung in the air like an open invitation. The dragon accepted the invitation with a very loud bellow.

**~~~oOo~~~**

"Well, that can't be good," Joss muttered, yanking the horn away from Leliana and crushing it under the heel of her boot.

"I don't suppose that's your mother, here for another go at us?" she asked Morrigan as they watched the dragon, with the grace of an eagle, take to the sky, its leathery wings gliding on the air currents.

"Do not be a fool. This dragon has red eyes. Mother has yellow eyes."

Joss whipped her head around to look at Morrigan, expecting to see a sneer_, _and caught just the faintest hint of humor in the witch's golden eyes. Well, sure, because fire-breathing dragons were a laugh a minute.

"We need to bring it down to the ground and kill it," Joss finally said in great disgust. Really? A fire_-_breathing dragon? Like having to make their way through the perilous lyrium_-_infused cave hadn't been enough torment?

"Why?" Jowan asked in surprise, inching toward the door leading back into the caverns.

"Because we need the urn and since we haven't come across it yet, it has to be in the temple ahead of us. If it's not, I'm going to make that walking nose, Gingerroot, sorry he ever met me."

Why couldn't a simple mission be just that? Why did they always have to run into demented people and creatures that wanted to beat them up or eat them for a snack? Why couldn't they have a nice easy stroll across Ferelden to stop the Blight and then dance in the streets afterwards?

Joss finally tore her gaze away from the huge, ugly, fang-mouthed dragon, and looked at the swamp witch. The woman's magical mounds were still neatly in place_, _as was her top. It seemed completely unfair as Joss knew she had detritus and fleshy bits in her hair and smudges across her face. Not so_, _Morrigan. Did she have an invisible force field around her?

"Morrigan, as the one who grew up with a dragon, how do you suggest we slay this one?"

"Focus spells and arrows on one wing. When it comes to ground, concentrate on the upper flesh of the throat, where the fire glands are. A dragon who cannot breathe fire becomes much easier to kill," Morrigan replied quietly.

Lyrium, it seemed, made Morrigan less bitchy. A useful bit of information to have. On the other hand, it appeared to make Wynne bitchier and more unruly. Joss resolved to limit Wynne's lyrium intake, but not until after the fight. Maybe she could sneak Wynne's leftover lyrium into Morrigan's tea?

The plan, once formulated, was simple. All firepower would be concentrated on the left wing, which led to a discussion on whose left that was. Once the dragon was grounded they would try to destroy the fire glands in the fleshy part of the throat, which led to a discussion on where the fleshy part of the throat was. All of this was done in hushed tones.

"And what would you have us do?" Cathair asked, her sword and shield at the ready.

"Attack on the sides and distract it as much as possible because we'll have to be face to face with it in order to hit the throat. I don't imagine he'll like that very much. In fact, I'll wager he's going to be spitting mad."

"Her." Morrigan's voice was oddly quiet.

"Pardon?"

"Her. High dragons are females," Morrigan corrected with no hint of her normal disdain.

What Joss wanted to say was: 'Where is Morrigan and what have you done with her?' In the interest of time and because nobody seemed to be in the mood for anything remotely lighthearted, she refrained.

"I stand corrected. Now let's kick _her_ arse," Joss replied grimly.

"And Wynne, if you put me to sleep without permission, you will be the victim of a grisly death," she added, tossing a glare over her shoulder at the older woman. Wynne tutted.

"Styx, no heroics," she continued. "That goes for all of you."

Joss took a deep breath and counted to three, exhaling in a gust. "On three," she instructed and counted again.

A dazzling display of mage power lit up the sky_,_ and the dragon, with a powerful roar, swooped down on them, a stream of fire blasting shrubs and trees into the air and burning the ground. Joss dove for cover and poked her head up over the stone wall, relieved to see everyone had done the same.

"Swooping is bad," she muttered, dusting her hands and knees off. "Again."

On the third attempt, the dragon tipped and tilted and then plummeted to the ground, roaring and spitting flames at anything that moved. Her left wing was frozen solid. Cathair, Randal and Shale moved forward. Zev disappeared into the shadows. Styx let forth a fierce howl and lunged forward.

Randal was the first to fall. He was picked up and flung to the side. Joss winced as she saw him make contact with the ground.

"Wynne, get over there and heal him!" Joss yelled.

The older mage stumbled over and knelt by Randal. She glanced over her shoulder at Joss and nodded grimly. Joss sighed in relief as that meant Murdock wouldn't kill her if she ever showed up in Redcliffe again. And she liked Randal. He told some very funny jokes when he'd had several drinks. Ribald and funny, she amended as she turned back to focus on the fight.

Zev suddenly appeared on the back of the dragon, which could no longer spit fire at them, but was plenty mad enough to still be deadly. The dragon staggered over to the road and began to lurch towards them. Zev gave a delighted laugh, hands out for balance as he nimbly made his way onward.

"I hate when he does that," Joss muttered, sending another bolt of lightning to the overgrown lizard.

Zev was balancing precariously, trying to make his way up the long, curved neck of the dragon. The dragon reared and Joss watched in horror as Zev lost his balance and went tumbling off the dragon. He landed dangerously close to the dragon's hind legs. Without thinking, Joss started forward, but Teagan grabbed her arm, pulling her back. Before she could protest, Styx was moving, a blur of brindled fur, pulling at Zevran's leather-clad leg.

The end came quickly after that. Shale picked up a large boulder from nearby and tossed it at the dragon's face. That was a talent Joss wished she had as it did an amazing amount of damage. Another boulder bounced off the dragon's nose.

The dragon staggered and reared again. Every spell and arrow hit the dragon's chest full on and, with an agonized cry, it lurched forward, head thudding onto the road. Cathair's sword plunged into the dragon's exposed head and, with a whimper, the dragon's eyes closed. For good measure, Cathair twisted the sword before bracing her legs and pulling it out.

Joss sank to her knees, retching. Teagan was beside her instantly. "Are you hurt?" he asked, slipping an arm around her shoulders and passing her a waterskin.

"Hurt? No. Exhausted? You bet your sweet…smile," she gasped.

She retched again and began to shake. She was afraid and she wasn't about to admit it to anyone. Teagan's breath warmed her ear.

"He's alive, Joss, I'm sure of it."

Styx hurtled into her, knocking her back and licking her face, barking joyfully. She spluttered and coughed and allowed herself to hug him briefly before Teagan helped her to her feet. Together, they made their way to the still figure of the Antivan assassin. She knelt and brushed his tumbled fall of hair away from his bruised face. His eyes flickered and he gave her a weak smile. Her tears started again and she brushed them away, sniffing mightily.

She examined him carefully. Even with her limited healing and diagnostic abilities she could tell that Zevran had a concussion and bruises, his shoulder was dislocated and he was not happy about losing his footing. He cursed in Antivan and then in the King's tongue. Joss was very impressed with his vocabulary and wondered if some of the curses were actually possible. She kept that thought to herself.

"This life is making me too soft, my dear Warden," he complained.

Joss squeezed his hand gently. "Really, Zev. I'm shocked by your clumsiness," she agreed and bent down to kiss his brow. It was, apparently, one of the few places that didn't hurt the poor assassin.

According to Wynne, Randal's leg was broken in two places and his torso sported a set of bite marks. Joss left Zevran and moved to Randal's side. She was impressed that he was even alive. He was too dazed to do more than grunt in acknowledgement when Joss ran a soothing hand over his forehead.

"You did really well, right up until you decided you'd be a good dinner ," she teased, using her rejuvenation spell on him. He sighed contentedly and closed his eyes.

It was apparent that neither man would be continuing on. Joss decided to take Teagan, Shale and Wynne with her to continue searching for the urn. Wynne thought she should stay and keep an eye on the two men, even though they were no longer in need of healing. They just needed time to recover.

Joss carefully explained that to continue on without a healer was just plain idiotic and even a moron should be able to understand that. Wynne started to protest again and Joss stopped her with a wave of her hand.

"I can be reasonable, Wynne, so I'll give you a choice. Come with us, without another word, or start walking back to Kinloch Hold," Joss said with a bright smile. "On all fours," she added and made a braying sound.

Leliana, who had opened her mouth, quickly closed it again. No doubt to complain about being left behind, Joss thought sourly. The feather-brained woman instead focused on the sky and remarked to nobody in particular that there was a cloud that looked very much like a fluffy bunny.

Teagan snickered, although he tried to look stern. Joss loved him for that and decided that, if they ever found the bloody ashes and returned to camp, she would show him just how much she loved him. Several times.

Jowan laughed outright. He was definitely getting an extra cookie before bedtime.

"Hopefully the urn is sitting there with a big, 'Help yourself' sign painted on it," Cathair remarked dryly as Joss passed by her.

The woman was looting the dragon and Joss had to wonder just where a dragon kept its personal stash of items. Did they have pockets? An invisible backpack? Cathair held up a particularly deadly_-_looking sword and grinned at Joss.

"Nice haul. Our luck is changing," the warrior said gleefully.

"It's about time," Joss replied, almost believing it.

Her group trudged on, tired but determined. They would finish the damned task and, by the Maker's smelly armpits, she would kill anyone else who got in her way. She was sick and tired of being thwarted every time she did anything the least bit nice. Maybe that was the problem, she was being far nicer than she was used to. It was no doubt causing bad luck to befall them.

She turned to wave, but the group staying with the injured had disappeared behind the dead dragon in the middle of the road.

Somehow that seemed to sum up her life.


	30. Chapter 30

**AN: **_Thank you, Lisa, for your beta and for being my sounding board!_  
_Thank you to all of you who are reading and who are reviewing! _

**Raiders of the Lost Urn**

Entering the old temple was like stepping into a basket of mildewed laundry that had been rolled in dirt and decay. Wynne started sneezing immediately. Josslyn's stomach jumped and danced, letting her know it wasn't the least bit happy. She glanced at Teagan, whose nostrils flared briefly before he flashed a smile at her.

"You choose the most interesting places to visit," he commented.

"It does have a penchant for selecting the more obscure locations," Shale agreed.

"_It_ wants to grab the urn and leave this smelly place. In fact, the smell reminds me of the cells in the basement at Kinloch Hold. Especially the one they had Anders in for so long. Maker's hind tit, it smelled disgusting by the time his year was up."

They were moving forward in the dim light, looking around at the ancient statues of Andraste and friends. Wynne stopped to peer at an old urn that was nearly as tall as she was.

"You don't suppose this is it?" she asked, frowning.

"Only if Andraste was a very, very large woman," Joss replied, smirking.

Wynne's lips pursed in disapproval, her brows lowering into a frown. The old bat had absolutely no sense of anything other than her own self-importance, Joss reflected sourly. As if her questions were perfectly acceptable and expected? Joss's eyes wanted to roll in the worst way.

They entered a large, square chamber and the etchings on the walls seemed to tell the story of Andraste, from birth to death. The Bride of the Maker's face wore a smile as the flames rose up around her.

"Talk about macabre," Joss muttered. "Do you think she truly was grinning like the Village Idiot while being burned alive?"

"Poetic license?" Teagan asked, examining the statuary with interest.

Joss, on the other hand, backed away from it. It felt as though the statue's eyes followed her as she examined the room they found themselves in. She ducked and then dodged, but the eyes remained fixed on her. She spun around, trying to catch the eyes moving. Finally, she gave up and began to move towards a brightly_-_lit alcove.

"I bid you welcome," a disembodied voice intoned.

Goosebumps danced a jig up and down her arms. "Oh joy. Creepy voice floating in the air. Nothing scary about that."

As she neared the sound, she realized the voice belonged to Kolgrim's twin. Joss blinked and looked again. Had they inadvertently eaten mushrooms in their last meal? Oh, bad choice of words. Hopefully it wasn't their last meal, per se. A body shiver shuddered through her. Her stomach rumbled.

She let her eyes drift back to the hallucination standing in front of her. Yes, definitely the same features and coloring, but much less craziness in the eyes, luckily. Joss wondered if she'd look like too big a coward if she clutched at Teagan's hand. Apparently_, _ he was feeling the same as he reached out and took her hand in his, squeezing it reassuringly.

"Erm, who might you be?" she asked. Good, barely a quiver in her question. She puffed out her chest only to have it deflate at the creature's next words.

"I am the Guardian of this sacred place. Long have I stood in this room, waiting for the true pilgrims."

"Define long," Joss said, wondering, with growing concern, if she was staring at an abomination.

"Longer than I care to admit."

And true pilgrims? Really? She was hardly a true pilgrim. Was he a blood mage? Could he read her mind? Maker's pointy beard, she hoped not, frantically trying to clear it of all thought. Another thought pushed into her brain, completely unconcerned with her desire _not _to think. Would there be an epic battle if they actually found the urn? Which seemed less likely as she stared at the Guardian. He didn't seem in any hurry to share the urn with them.

"We're just here for a pinch or two of ashes and then we'll be on our way," Joss explained, ignoring the tremble in her voice. What was she afraid of? She'd faced plenty of demons in the Fade and if this was a hallucination, how dangerous could it be?

"Only a true pilgrim may claim the ashes of our beloved Andraste. Any others shall perish in the attempt."

Joss folded her arms across her chest and eyed him warily. "Let's just assume we're true pilgrims, shall we? Why don't you point us in the right direction and we'll get out of your hair."

"The gauntlet must first be dealt with."

Joss's patience, rare on the best of days, began to dissipate. She hadn't come all this way to have a gauntlet thrown down. "A gauntlet like a metal glove? You slap me with it, toss it down, I pick it up and we duel? That kind of gauntlet?"

She studied him carefully. He was big and broad and had a massive hammer hanging from his back. A hammer, she noted with trepidation, that would leave a sizeable dent in her should he decide to use it. She took a step back to stand beside Shale. Shale could probably handle a hit or two from it and be fine. Or at least mostly fine.

"Or do you mean one of those things that templars have to go through when they are being punished? Where the other templars line up in two rows, and the offender has to run the length of it while the others hit him with switches?"

"Hopefully neither," Wynne said, stepping forward.

Lovely, Wynne was in her battle stance. The old hag was going to challenge the Guardian, who looked like he could kill her with a mere glance. Not that Wynne didn't deserve to be glared to death, or have a gauntlet slapped across her cheek, but there was no reason to bring the man's wrath down on them all. If he was a man, which Joss thought highly improbable.

"Tell us what you would have of us, Guardian. We are here to save the life of a noble man and prevent Ferelden from being overrun by the darkspawn," Wynne demanded in her most patronizing manner.

"Wynne, I have two words for you. Shut. Up."

"The gauntlet is a test of faith, more than that I cannot say," the Guardian said in measured tones.

"Lovely. A test. Like what was Andraste's favorite color? That sort of test?"

"It appears to have misunderstood the fleshy creature when It said It could not say more," Shale remarked.

Sardonic pile of pebbles. Joss flashed a quick glare at the golem. "United we stand, divided we die," she replied. Who knew golems could shrug?

"So, what's the first question? And do we get time to talk among ourselves before we answer?" she continued.

"I have a question for each of you and when you have answered, the way will be open to you."

"The way? There's a way? It's not just sitting behind a door, waiting for us?"

There was always a _way_, a _snag_, a _hiccup_. Joss shook her head. "Fine, fine. Ask your questions and let's get this test behind us."

"There is suffering in your face, young woman," the Guardian said, looking at her.

Joss put her hands to her face, her fingers running along her skin. "Those are laugh lines," she corrected with as much dignity as she could.

"You lost two who were very important to you, yet you do not let them rest. You blame others for their deaths, and you blame yourself. Does this honor their memories?"

Joss felt the floor drop out from beneath her feet. Or maybe it was the color leaving her face that caused the sensation of falling. Anger and guilt began to beat at her temples. The air seemed to have been sucked from the room, or maybe it was just that everyone seemed to be holding their breath, waiting for her response. She shook her head.

"What I feel is none of your business, you meddlesome old son of a w - " she began in a low voice.

"Joss," Teagan reproved softly, resting his hand lightly on her arm. She stared at it and then at him, furious that tears were choking her voice.

"You cannot move forward if you remain in the past," the Guardian said and for the blink of an eye, she saw compassion in his expression. Enigmatic nonsense and ambiguous rubbish. She'd be damned, and probably already was, if she'd answer him.

"I am not having this discussion in front of friends. Or strangers. Or whatever it is you are, Guardian."

"Your strength does you credit, Josslyn Winifred Amell, but you have others you must think about now. Tell me, do you think it honors their memories?"

"I don't know what kind of magic you're using, and I don't care how badly the lyrium has addled your brain, but I'm not about to prostrate myself in front of everyone, and beg forgiveness or promise to become something I'm not," she insisted, ruining the effect by wiping at her damp cheeks.

The silence was broken by the creak of Shale as the golem shifted slightly. Joss wondered if the Guardian was transmogrifiable and then wondered if that was even a word. She was not, by Andraste's tits, going to share intimate details of her life with every damned body in Thedas. She continued to glare at the Guardian, who continued to smile compassionately at her. An impasse. Lovely. Long minutes ticked by.

"Oh, fine. No. It doesn't honor Joseph or Brin. And let me just add, in the interest of fairness, that it's really easy for you to stand there telling me I need to forgive myself, without telling me how to do it. This is the worst test I've ever taken, thank you very much."

"Oh no, thank _you_," the Guardian intoned with a slight nod.

That's it? A thank you? As if she'd had a choice? Her glare was happy to stay where it was. And because she was such an adult, she hoped that the Guardian flayed Wynne, when it was her turn to be grilled.

"Bann Teagan Guerrin, you are a man of honor and integrity. Would you have your children be known as bastards?"

Teagan looked puzzled and offended at the same time, his brow curling upward and his mouth turning downward. Joss had an overpowering desire to laugh at his expression, until the words sank in and her breath gusted out.

"You have children? You didn't think I'd want to know that?" Oh nice, no hysteria in that high note. At. All.

"I don't…I would never…Maker's breath, what are you talking about?" Teagan demanded, as flustered as Joss had ever seen him.

"Would you have your children be known as bastards? It is a simple yes or no question, Bann Teagan Guerrin," the Guardian asked, frowning.

Frowning was bad. Frowning meant displeasure. Joss eyed Teagan, hoping her hurt was not shining like a beacon, because Maker knew she was hurt enough to have it ooze from her like sweat. Oh, that _was _sweat. She let out her breath and waited.

"Of course I would give them my name and my protection," Teagan answered. He refused to meet her eyes and Joss didn't think that was a good sign. At. All.

"Of course," the Guardian agreed with a nod.

"Of course," Joss agreed heavily. "I'm guessing that means you're withdrawing your proposal."

"We'll discuss it later, my dear."

Sure, because there was always time in their day to discuss things, especially the 'break your heart' kind of things. But he was correct. Standing in a moldering old shrine was hardly the time to talk about his impending marriage to someone else.

"Wynne Philpott," the Guardian began, and Joss let go of her hurt and anger long enough to snicker at the last name, and then listen intently.

"Ask your question, Guardian, although you already know the answer," Wynne said pompously.

"You offer your opinion as truth, whisper platitudes to those in need of compassion, and give advice to those who do not need it. Do you acknowledge that you are not always right? Do you ever worry that your advice and opinions are wrong?"

"Only a fool thinks they're right all the time," Wynne replied patronizingly.

"Andraste's chin whiskers! You can't even say it, can you?" Joss burst out, shaking her head in disgust. "You can't even admit when you're wrong. You never really apologize without a handy excuse to mitigate your culpability. Even now. You pathetic old gorgon!"

Wynne's lips tightened and her face paled. To Joss's horror, she felt a moment of remorse for her diatribe and a flicker of pity for the pontificating elder mage. She pushed it away and waited for Wynne to say something but the old woman refused, arms folded and eyes locked with the Guardian's.

"The history between you both will never be happy, but perhaps in time, with the right words, it will become less hostile," the Guardian remarked.

"That's it? You aren't going to force her to admit how wrong she's been? Not going to peel her scab away and watch her wounds fester and bleed?" Joss asked in disbelief.

"She has faced what she is; there is no need," the urn's official watchdog proclaimed.

His answer was like having sex with a virgin boy…completely unsatisfying. She glared first at Wynne and then at the Guardian, both of whom ignored her. And how would he know what Wynne had faced? She felt a warm glow in her, a whispered reassurance that was anything but reassuring.

"And get out of my head!" she added.

"It wishes to ask me something?" Shale broke in, clearly bored with the proceedings.

The Guardian turned to study Shale and shook his head. "You are an ancient and noble soul. I have nothing but respect for you."

Joss turned to look at the golem, no doubt with her mouth still agape. She shut it with a firm snap that probably loosened a few teeth. Ancient and noble? Well, sure_, _ancient, because rocks tended to be that way. But since when did sarcasm and sardonicism equate to nobility?

"Your test reeks," she muttered to the Guardian.

"The way is open," he responded, as if that answered everything.

Joss stomped off in the direction of a door that had mysteriously opened behind the Guardian. She didn't bother to look at the others, they would either follow or not. At the moment, Joss wanted one thing, and one thing only. To get the urn and get the blazes out of the lyrium-fueled dream she was in.

Well, two things, actually. She wanted to know who Teagan's children were, as well. It seemed completely out of character for him to have children and not do the honorable thing and marry their mother, or adopt them, or acknowledge them.

"Guardian, my left foot," she muttered.

The room she entered held the nearly-transparent shades of various people, all of whom seemed to have a riddle that required solving. Well_,_ that wasfine with Joss; she had a few as well. Teagan, coming to stand beside her again, rested his hand lightly on her arm. She bit back anything sarcastic that tickled at her tongue and gave him a ghost of a smile. Which, considering she was standing in front of the ghost of Andraste's mother, was perhaps not the wisest choice of words.

"I'll answer your riddle if you answer mine," Joss told the ghostly apparition.

Pale eyebrows rose in surprise and the illusion wavered and then glanced around the room, as if expecting to be rescued from the mad mage. Joss smiled politely. Finally, the spirit nodded.

"What kind of shoes does a frog wear?"

There was a startled gasp from Wynne and a snort that could have been a snicker from Teagan. Or it may have been an actual snort of disgust. The spirit shrugged, looking uneasy.

"Open-toad sandals," Joss explained with a grin. Good, her spirits were rising. Oh, another bad choice of words, she scolded herself.

"So, what's your riddle, again?"

Brona, Andraste's mother, repeated her riddle. "Echoes from a shadow realm, whispers of things yet to come. Thought's strange sister dwells in night, is swept away by dawns light."

"Dreams, it's dreams," Wynne hissed at her.

"Remember those two words I had for you earlier? They still apply. Shut. Up."

They made their way around the room to visit the spirits, each of them an important figure in Andraste's life_, _and each riddle was far easier to answer than Joss had expected. She kept waiting for the one riddle that would stump them all. When they stood before Cathaire, Joss grinned and made the same deal with him that she'd made with the others.

"What happens when two frogs try to catch the same fly at the same time?"

Cathaire gave a startled exclamation, followed by a shrug.

"They become tongue-tied."

Even Teagan groaned at that, but Joss believed that she had made her feelings on the subject of riddles known. Maybe the next adventurer to come searching for ashes would be able to bypass the riddle room, or at least be given some fairly fun ones to solve.

As they answered Cathaire's riddle, Joss heard a door open and a rush of cold air came in to swirl around them. Nothing ominous about that. At. All. Cathaire's spirit disappeared and Joss forced herself to move toward the open door.

"You don't suppose the urn is behind door number two, do you? Or could we be that lucky?"

"I doubt it," Teagan said, slipping his hand under her elbow and guiding her into the next chamber.

It occurred to Joss, as she stood trying to breathe, that she must have somehow found a portal into the Fade because the two young men standing before her were as dead as dead could be. As in _very_. She rubbed her eyes and then started to laugh as relief washed through her.

"Teagan, smite me," she instructed. Oh wait, he was in the Fade as well, and couldn't use his smiting ability if he was a dream figure.

"What? Certainly not."

"But this isn't real," she protested. "It's a dream. It has to be."

"Then it's a shared dream, my dear."

"Jo," a young man, with dark chestnut hair and hazel eyes, greeted.

"You're dead," she replied, pleased with how matter-of-fact her voice sounded. Inside was a girl running in circles, laughing hysterically.

"I know."

Well, that was a relief. Oh wait. No it wasn't. "You shouldn't, technically, have a head. Neither should you, Brin."

"True enough, Jo, but would you really want to stand around talking to a headless figure that couldn't respond? Or spoke out his arse?"

"You always had a perverse sense of humor," she retorted with a snicker.

"Hello, Pot," he replied with a smirk.

"Hello, Kettle," she replied with a smile.

"You know why we're here," Joseph added quietly.

"No I don't. As far as I'm concerned, this is just a bad dream from eating undercooked meat."

Brin leaned forward and pinched her arm. Joss yelped and slapped at his hand but he was grinning his most infectious grin and she found herself grinning back.

"Dream, eh? Not even close. Nor is it the Fade. You know better."

By now, her companions had gathered close and were listening intently. She turned to glare at Wynne. "Don't you need to apologize or something?" she asked.

"That's not why we're here," Joseph said with a grin. "But if she's game, I'm all ears."

Wynne looked as pale as the underbelly of a toad. And that was an image that made Joss bite her tongue to hold the laughter back.

"Enchanter Philpott, shouldn't you at least say hello to your former apprentice?" she asked, snickering.

Joseph and Brin exchanged glances and both of them chuckled. "Philpott? Seriously? That's a better name for Ines, isn't it? She was always filling pots."

Joss felt a tickle in her throat as she tried to hold back her laughter. Hysteria was very close to the surface and if she wasn't careful, she'd collapse in a giggling heap. And at her age, giggling was out of the question. Leave it to Joseph to bring her back to reality.

"You always tried to protect me, Joss, but what I did was not your fault, and there's nothing you could have done to prevent it."

"It was my job to protect you. I'm the oldest."

"By less than ten minutes," he replied dryly. "Just let it go, Josslyn. Just stop blaming yourself. Do it for me."

"If you make me cry, I'll never forgive you," Joss muttered, swiping at her eyes.

"Brin, you talk to her. She never listened to me, anyway."

"He's right, Josslyn. You need to let this go. You never had the control over us that you thought you did. You didn't make me learn forbidden spells. I learned them long before I met you. And teaching them to you was the only gift I could give you."

She turned to glare at Brin. "And the same goes for you. Do. Not. Make. Me. Cry."

But it was too late to stop the tears and too late to change anything. She sniffed and wiped her eyes on her sleeve.

"I hate you both. And I miss you both so much. And what baby did you mean when I saw you in the Fade, Brin? And what were you doing there?"

Brin and Joseph were laughing at her. She stepped closer and reached out a hand, felt warmth beneath her fingers and leapt back. She hadn't expected that. At. All. They were figures from her imagination, they shouldn't feel alive. That was creepier than anything else that she'd encountered.

"Ah, the baby remark. Silly me. It was a mistake, Sweetling. Just a mistake. It will be– " Brin started and broke off when Joseph jabbed him in the ribs.

"Maker's broken balls! You want to get us in trouble with the Big Guy?" Joseph asked_, _and Joss found herself laughing at his expression of outrage and fear.

"Now, go forth and be happy, Jo. That's an order from your oh-so-much-younger brother."

"And from me, Josslyn. You never should have taken the blame to begin with. I'm pretty sure that's why you have all those little wrinkles around your eyes."

Joss felt the tears running down her cheeks in hot rivulets and she glared at both men. "Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to go soak your head! I didn't need you both to come haunt me until I was a watering pot," she said with a mighty sniff. "And those are laugh lines, damn you," she added indignantly.

Teagan handed her a handkerchief, neatly folded and perfectly white. How was that even possible? A white handkerchief, unsullied by even a hint of dirt or debris? It only gave credence to her belief that she was dreaming. She brushed at her eyes and blew her nose on the white square.

"Seriously, Joss. Stop it. Blaming yourself and Wynne is a complete waste of time. But the whole toad transmogrification? That was awesome beyond words. No offense_,_ Wynne."

"None taken," the old mage murmured, still looking pale and shocked. Joss felt a split second of pity for the woman. But only a split second.

"I love you both," she sniffed, giving each of the men a watery smile.

"Ah, sappy Joss. When did that happen?" Joseph teased and then handed her an amulet. "And it's contagious, apparently. We love you_,_ too. Now, wear this and remember us, Joss, but, by all that's unholy, stop wearing the guilt."

With that_, _the two men simply winked out and Joss was left holding an amulet. She stared down at it and then at the spot where the men had stood just seconds earlier. She slipped the amulet over her head and tucked it under the collar of her robe. She'd examine it when everyone else wasn't busy examining her.

The silence was deafening and she felt three pairs of eyes boring into her. "What? Stop looking at me as though I'm going to fall apart," she huffed.

"Josslyn? Are you well?"

"Fine, Teagan. Never better. Let's go," she said in a rush. Did they really expect her to fall apart? Not that she didn't want to, but now hardly seemed like the right time.

The next room contained ghostly images of themselves. "Oh, brilliant. We get to fight our inner demons. Literally," she groused before shooting a particularly vicious bolt of lightning at her mirror image. Instinctively, she winced as the demon staggered back and dissipated. Sissy.

After finally killing the pale ghost of Shale, another door opened and Joss very nearly stepped into oblivion. Teagan clutched her to him and she was happy to rest there for a minute while her heart made its way from her toes back up to her chest.

The exit to the room was across a wide chasm that didn't look at all welcoming. She glanced around the room and then looked at the squares on the floor that didn't quite make it to the other side. "Oh joy! Another riddle. Isn't that wonderful? I'm so glad the Archdemon is such a patient creature."

They spent several minutes trying to figure out a way to get across and finally Teagan rummaged in his rucksack for a rope. He fiddled with it for another several minutes and then went to the far end of the room, looked across the pit and tossed one end of the rope at a long pillar near the exit. It hit the ground beside the pillar and Teagan patiently reeled it in and tried again. The looped end of the rope sailed over the pillar and slid halfway down before he pulled the rope tight.

"Please don't tell me I have to swing across a gaping hole in the ground," Joss said, coming to stand beside him.

Looking over the edge, she saw nothing but darkness and wondered if it was one of those bottomless pits one read about in really cheesy adventure novels. Had the Black Fox encountered one? No doubt. And of course the pit was bottomless. It had to be, as badly as their adventures in search of the urn had been going.

"Just hold on to me, Joss, and have a little faith," he said, testing the rope.

She was embarrassed by the high, thin, absolutely girlish, scream that forced its way out of her as they sailed across the opening. She promptly bit her tongue when they landed with a bone-shuddering thud on the other side. That stopped the scream in its tracks.

Wynne refused to take the rope and swing across, arguing stubbornly that she would just go back the way they'd come. While Joss didn't really want Wynne along, she wasn't about to lose a healer. Who knew what other tests awaited them? She moved to the edge of her side of the chasm and glared across at the woman.

"Pick up that rope and swing across or I'll have Shale pick you up and pitch you across!"

Wynne looked ready to argue but Teagan shook his head. "I believe she means it, Wynne."

Once the rope was tied around her waist, Shale gave the old woman a push and Wynne came flying across, clutching the rope and looking as green as pea soup. She tumbled to her knees and rested there, gasping like a fish out of water.

Shale stared across the gulf at them. Joss swore the golem wore an amused expression. "I will return to the others. It does not appear to need my services."

"It thanks you for your faithful service, and asks that you remind the others to set up camp."

Shale stomped off the way they had come, disappearing long before the sound of footsteps died away.

"These ashes better cure Arl Eamon of everything from bunions to eczema to poisoning," Joss grumbled as they started forward.

The chamber they entered next was large and filled with the sound of chanting. Of course there was nobody around to account for the chanting, which did nothing for Josslyn's frayed nerves. Perhaps, she thought with an edge of hysteria in her thoughts, the voices were hidden by the wall of flames in front of them?

She glanced around and saw an altar. The words carved into the side of the marble made her laugh outright, relief tickling her stomach. After all the trials they'd been through, the riddles and puzzles, it was a bit insulting how easy the last riddle was. It did, however, make her wonder if the Guardian wasn't a bit of a pervert.

"Finally, something easy. Everyone strip!" she said, sitting down to unlace her leather boots.

"Pardon?"

"_Cast off the trappings of worldly life and cloak yourself in the goodness of spirit_. In other words, walk through the fire naked. Don't worry, the fire is probably just an illusion anyway," Joss said confidently. She stood and finished stripping.

"I guess you don't actually have to, as I'm the one with the empty pouch," she added, holding up the empty pouch. But then again, seeing Teagan in his altogether made it all worthwhile.

"You don't think you could have thought of that before I stripped?" he asked, his eyebrow arched in good humor as he pulled his pants back on.

"Totally worth it," she replied and then took a deep breath.

"Wynne, if I'm wrong, please get a massive heal ready."

With that, Joss stepped through the flames which, surprisingly, did nothing more than singe a few hairs on her arms. She made her way up the marble steps to a disappointingly plain urn and removed the lid. Grey ashes stared back at her and she reached down, taking a small amount and putting them in her pouch. The ashes were sticky and left her fingers a dull grey but she had the damned ashes.

Turning, she grinned triumphantly and started down the steps. Of course_,_ she tripped. One minute there was a step underneath her foot and the next she was tumbling down the stairs. Her head and the floor made contact with a nauseating _thwack_.

It was several seconds before she sat up with a groan. Teagan sank down beside her and tenderly pulled her into his arms.

"That would have been just my luck. Find the ashes but die on the way out," she said with a laugh that turned into a groan.

She leaned up and kissed Teagan, heedless of Wynne, who was hissing her disapproval, like a snake on a mission. It wasn't like they were making love in front of the urn of anything, for Maker's sake.

"Just because I'm kissing you, doesn't mean I've forgotten about your harem and children," she whispered quietly.

"I have no children that I'm aware of, Joss. I think I'd know if I did."

"So the Guardian was more idiot than guardian, is that it?"

Teagan chuckled and his breath stirred her hair, which had mostly fallen out of its untidy chignon. "Perhaps not an idiot, perhaps just misinformed."

"Well, someone is misinformed. There's Elissa and your engagement with her, a passel of children in need of a name and Andraste only knows who else."

"Shall we continue this discussion back at camp, love? If I'm not mistaken that's either your stomach growling or there is a pack of wolves heading our way."

Joss was still laughing as they stepped out into the star-studded night.


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: **_Thank you **Naomis8329** for the 500th review of this story. I am humbled and gratified that Josslyn's story has such a large following._  
_Thank you, Lisa, for catching all the many mistakes while still making me feel competent as a writer!_

**The Truth About Cats and Frogs**

Joss eyed the dead dragon warily as she made her way around it to find the camp. Her first choice would not be camping beside a large, dead and smelly dragon, but the others were gathered around a campfire that crackled madly, and the tents were pitched downwind. She supposed there were worse things than sleeping with a dead dragon, not that she necessarily wanted to know what those things were.

Styx nearly knocked her off her feet as she approached the camp, and, if Teagan hadn't put his arms around her, she'd have ended up in a heap. The mabari licked her face and howled until she finally rubbed his belly and the soft fur of his ears.

"Get down before Teagan gets jealous," she admonished with a laugh. Styx barked and then went to stand beside Teagan, a plaintive whine coming from him until the man patted his head.

Zev was sitting beside the fire, looking tired and pale, but he smiled at her as she sat beside him.

"Zevran, when you said you wanted to dance with a dragon, I really thought that was a euphemism for other activities."

"Ah, that would explain the waggling brows, my dear," he said with a laugh.

She reached out and took his hand in hers, squeezing gently. "If you ever dance with a dragon again I will send a bolt of lightning so far up your arse that you won't stop dancing for a week," she threatened, softening her words with a smile.

Zevran winked at her and squeezed her hand in reply. "Always with your teasing, my lovely Warden. Shall we go somewhere private and discuss this lightning bolt?"

"As much as I love the idea, I think not. Teagan might not understand."

"Teagan might not understand what?" Teagan asked, coming to sit on the other side of her. He slipped an arm around her shoulders and she leaned against him, exhausted and happy to be back at camp, dead dragon and all.

"Ah, you know I am not one to kiss and tell," Zev responded, laughing.

All of the others, except Shale and Randal, gathered around the fire and Joss let her eyes wander over the group. The trip through the temple for a pinch of soot and ashes felt as though it had taken days and Joss had been sure it had changed everyone, even those at camp. It had not.

Sister Manic Moonbeams was still a pint short of a strong drink. She was stirring a pot whose contents smelled less appetizing than Joss would have liked. Still, any food was better than havingan empty stomach.

Cathair and Jowan were both cheerfully discussing Jowan's abilities. Joss was surprised to hear that Jowan was still trying to transmogrify people and decided to talk to him about it privately.

Randal was sleeping, his body still mending after becoming the dragon's chew toy. He was lucky to be alive, and as much as Joss loathed admitting it, had Wynne not been there, he wouldn't have survived his encounter with the dragon's teeth. She'd be damned if she'd tell Wynne that.

Morrigan was sitting apart from the others, staring off into the distance. For some reason Joss couldn't explain, she felt a moment of sympathy for the swamp witch. As if aware of her thoughts, Morrigan shifted into bird form and flew off into the darkness. Or maybe it was the smell of dinner wafting her way that caused her sudden departure.

Shale was standing watch, as still as stone. Joss sniggered. Sure, it was easy for Shale to stand as still as stone because Shale _was_ stone. When Morrigan took flight, she saw Shale twitch and shudder. Another snigger escaped her. At least she knew how to make the golem move when necessary.

After a meal consisting of stale bread and overcooked meat swimming in grey sludge, washed down by weak tea, Joss left the others recounting their triumphant trek through the temple. The last thing she wanted was to talk about her encounter with the spirits of her past.

She went in search of solitude. She found a pail of water covered by a clean cloth sitting beside her tent. With a whisper, she cast a spell to heat the water and gladly began to wash off the remnants of a day she would happily forget. She doubted that would happen.

As if to prove her correct, Wynne came up to her, casting a long shadow against the wall of a canvas tent. Joss heaved a sigh. "Of course _you'd_ want to talk."

"I miss them too, Josslyn. I don't think I realized just how much until I saw them." There was sadness in Wynne's voice and a hint of something else that surprised Joss. Regret. But hearing regret in Wynne's voice did not make Joss feel eager to talk.

"I'm going to tell you once, and once only, Wynne. I don't want to talk about Joseph or Brin with you. Not now. Maybe not ever."

"Don't you think that's part of the problem? You won't talk about it but that doesn't change what happened. You need to talk about it, as do I."

Joss felt her magic ebb and flow around her. She stared out into the darkness beyond their camp, counting to ten. Ten was never enough. She added another dozen. Finally she turned to the older mage.

"You need to go away, Wynne. It isn't safe to be around me at the moment."

A subtle shift in Wynne's stance said quite a different thing. Was she really that obtuse? "Now," Joss added quietly. Maybe she wasn't obtuse. Maybe she was just suicidal?

"This has to be settled, Josslyn."

"So, your way or no way? It comes down to what you need versus what I need? Wouldn't the Guardian be proud to see how well you listened to him?"

Wynne opened her mouth and closed it. Several times. "You accuse me of believing I'm always right but you're guilty of the same arrogance."

Ouch. Nothing worse than having your own words thrown back at you. She had said those very words the day Joseph had died. Well, said wasn't really right. She had yelled them, had wanted to tear Wynne apart with words and magic but the old harpy had put her to sleep. She was reminded, as she felt her hackles rise, of two cats fighting over a mouse.

She heard the sound of Teagan's laughter and then Zevran's amused voice. Jowan joined in. She couldn't hear what was being said, but they all sounded happy enough, which meant nobody was killing anybody else. In fact, she'd hazard a guess that the only one who felt the least bit like killing someone was her. Her fingers twitched around a spell but she lowered her hands and turned to face the Wicked Witch of the Tower.

"Here's the deal, Wynne. You have five minutes to talk about this and then that door is closed forever. If you ever speak about it again, I won't transmogrify you into a frog. I will feed you to the parents of all those children you allowed Irving to send off to the noble families of Ferelden."

She turned away from Wynne again. She didn't have to look at her to know the old woman's mouth was agape. She remained facing away from Wynne, looking out at the shadows, waiting for the old woman to speak, to deny and deflect.

"I loved Joseph as if he was my own son. I wanted him to be strong enough to fight the demons of the Fade. That is the only reason I urged him to continue, in the hope that he would become stronger. His death was heartbreaking to me. I – I gave up my own son without a fight but I did everything I could to protect Joseph!"

Josslyn scoffed. She actually scoffed. That was a sound she had not expected to ever fall from her lips. "Your protection is the very thing that killed him, you puffed-up old harridan!"

She was only dimly aware of the sudden cessation of sound from those gathered around the campfire. Oh, perfect. Now everyone could hear her scoffing, of all things. She shot a glare in the direction of the group, a wasted effort since it was too dark to see anything.

"So_, _you teasing him for being the less talented twin had nothing to do with it?"

"You supercilious, self-important, self-aggrandizing, moralizing, overbearing bitch!" Joss yelled. Nice, just what everyone else needed to hear. And where in Thedas had the tears come from? Crying was the last thing she wanted to do.

"I'm sorry, Joss. I never wanted Joseph to become possessed. I loved him. I wanted to help him."

"You learned nothing from Aneirin, did you? Nothing from Brin? Meddling in things, insisting everyone follow your rigid world view or be damned. You didn't even come to see how I was doing, Wynne! You cut out a piece of my soul and left me to wrestle with my own demons!"

"What could I have said to you that would have eased your pain?"

Well_, _ there was that. She blinked as the tears continued. "You could have let me go into the Fade and at least try to kill the demon from there."

"We both know it was too late, Josslyn. I wish otherwise, but it was too late."

"Too late or not, it would have been grand to at least try."

"I did what I thought was right, but if I could go back and change it, I would," Wynne said_, _her voice like Josslyn's tears. Wet and sad. Oh_, _she was not going to feel sorry for Wynne. She. Was. Not. But she couldn't help but feel pity for the woman. Damnation.

"And Brin? Why did you turn him in?"

"Because my job dictated I do so. I was responsible for more than just one person, Josslyn. I was responsible for all of the young mages. How could I allow someone who knew forbidden magics to contaminate a young mage?"

"He wasn't a case of the measles, Wynne. He wouldn't have _contaminated _anyone. And that's the problem with you! You have this strict code you expect all of us to live by, right up until the time it suits you to break it.

"How many times did we endure your lectures on the dangers of demons and spirits? Yet the minute you were dying, you glommed onto the nearest spirit and gave it a home. You told Leliana recently that you have an affinity for the spirits of the Fade. Well, Madame Brilliance, all mages do! But we don't all get into bed with them. In fact, isn't that the point of the Harrowing?"

Well, if she didn't sound like a fishwife, she'd dance with a spider. She snapped her mouth shut and, to be sure nothing more came out of it, she clapped her hand over it. Her tears dried up, hopefully for good. That was enough cat-fighting for one night.

"You're right, Josslyn. I have so many regrets and I can't undo what's done. But I'd like to try to make amends."

Joss shook her head, afraid to let another word out because she'd made a big enough fool of herself for one night. They would never be friends; that much had always been clear. They were just too different. She waved Wynne away. Her five minutes had expired and Josslyn was in danger of either forgiving the older mage or frying her. She really wasn't sure, in that moment, which was more likely.

Another shadow fell across the tent as Teagan joined them.

"Are you well, my dear?"

Joss nodded, wondering if her voice would still be shrill or just quivery when she spoke. Neither_, _if she was lucky. She was not. "Never better. Wynne was just leaving."

A subtle shift in Wynne's stance said quite a different thing. "Now," Joss added quietly. She wasn't obtuse, the old woman was definitely suicidal.

"Please, Wynne, just go. We've talked and now we both have things to think about. Go, Wynne, before you feel the urge to join the chorus of all those tree frogs out there."

She was tired, her head still ached where it had kissed the stone floor, and her stomach was dancing the Remigold as it tried to digest the unpalatable meal that had disguised itself as dinner. She wanted to crawl into her tent and sleep. Or cry. Or cry herself to sleep. She really wasn't picky.

"Joss, you will have to talk about it sometime," Teagan said, coming to stand beside her.

"On my time," Joss agreed. Surely she had a smile somewhere that she could offer Teagan? One of those reassuring ones? Apparently not. She whispered a spell and snowflakes began to drift down on them.

"When _is_ your time, Joss?"

Wind came up, tossing the snowflakes about. She chanted softly. The flakes danced in the air, tickling her eyelashes. She tried counting to thirty. Her anger flickered and winked out, but promised to return without hesitation. She wondered if she should warn Teagan, but he seemed to be attuned to her moods.

"Joseph loved the snow. He wasn't happy unless his nose was bright red and his lips blue from the cold. That's why he always felt guilty about my going to the Towerwhen I was so young. I made the snow for him," she whispered. "And that's really all I want to share."

"I know this is painful, Joss, but you aren't the only one who's ever lost someone they love."

She already felt raw and bloody and now he wanted to poke at her sores? To what end? She whispered and let her hands create small figures in the air. The snow stopped, the wind dying away. An argument seemed imminent. What could be better?

"Must we do this now?"

"Yes, my dear. I love you enough that I'm willing to fight if it means you'll let me past that wall of yours."

Joss turned so quickly that she nearly lost her balance and he held out steadying hands. His expression was all resolve and strength and she blinked in surprise. She had expected a tender look, a gentle smile; instead he looked ready to charge into battle. Well, that wasn't good. At. All.

"You know, I'm beginning to get the impression that you're actually serious about this relationship," she said, smiling half-heartedly.

"Apparently more serious than you are."

Joss didn't have anything to say to that, at least nothing that she could say without crying. "Being serious is not something that comes easily," she admitted wryly and was rewarded with a brief smile.

Of course then it all came tumbling out, and Joss was appalled to hear the tremor in her voice as she spoke. "I keep saying it's Wynne's fault but it's really mine, she's right. I should have been more careful. I should have protected him. I should have just pretended he was more skilled at Fade walking, instead of teasing him."

She took a step closer to Teagan. "If you stay with me, I'll disappoint you. I'll let you down and you'll end up just like Brin and Joseph. If you have any kind of brain at all, you'll run now."

"I _do_ have a brain, Joss. I also have a heart. Both tell me I'm where I should be."

"Not out looking for your children?"

"Maker's breath, Josslyn! Didn't you hear anything Joseph or Brin said to you?" Teagan asked in frustration.

Magic began to gather around her again, waves of it rolling off her. She shot a fireball into the dark, followed by another. They danced around each other and then collided in a fiery shower of sparks. She took a few seconds to admire her handiwork.

"I don't know how," she admitted with a sharp laugh that sounded scary even to her. "I don't know how to just let it go because if I do that, I'm afraid I'll forget them. I'll forget that Joseph could sing the high notes that I never could. I'll forget the way Brin's face softened when he talked about his home in the Wilds. I'll forget the hours we spent in the library because he was so damned determined to learn about the world around him."

She stopped, disgusted with herself for completely breaking down and babbling like a brook, complete with waterworks. She had spent years building up defensive walls and he was just knocking them down like they were made of spun sugar. She cleared her throat, started to speak and then snapped her mouth shut. What else was she supposed to say?

She felt Teagan's hand on her shoulder and she shook it off, brushing away the tears that seemed determined to disobey her and fall in copious amounts. She whirled on him, wanting to shake him until he understood why he was the biggest idiot in Thedas for loving her.

"I'm the one who continually got us into trouble. Me! And every time I look in a mirror I remember that half of me will always be missing because I was careless!"

"Oh, Josslyn, my dear, you weren't careless. Brin and Joseph don't hold you to blame and they don't want you to blame yourself, either. Just allow yourself to believe their words, if not mine."

Maker's hairy arse! He wasn't the biggest idiot in Thedas; she was. She didn't just love Teagan, she had opened up her heart to him. She'd done the one thing she'd sworn never to do again: she'd fallen so in love with him that she was letting him see her in all her horribleness. It was the worst possible time to do so. Love in the time of Blight. Was there anything more insane?

"Forgive yourself, Josslyn. That's all they want. That's all I want. Just forgive yourself."

"Why? Do you think I will suddenly become a nicer person? You think I'll suddenly develop people skills and say the right thing all the time? You think Wynne and I will suddenly be bosom buddies?"

She winced, appalled by how hostile she sounded. She loved the man, but hearing her tone_, _one would never guess that was true. She shook her head. He had crawled right under her skin and become a part of her. Damn him.

"Do you honestly believe that's why I want you to forgive yourself? So you'll be like everyone else? Do you believe I want some ordinary, bland wife? Andraste's golden arse, Josslyn Amell, you impossible woman!"

Joss blinked, horrified to feel the first effervescent bubbles of laughter percolating in her chest. He'd cursed? Teagan? The nearest she'd heard him come to true cursing had been his boisterous 'Marmalade' moment in Redcliffe castle_, _and that had been the influence of the demon's control. The thought of his cavorting around the great hall, wearing a cheerful and mischievous grin, made her laughter all the more determined to make itself known.

"Listen, _Marmalade _Guerrin, you need to leave the cursing to the experts," she said as the laughter finally pushed its way out and spilled into the dark.

Teagan appeared confused by her sudden laughter. And nervous. Not that she could blame him. There was just a hint of hysteria in it, but that was no reason to smite her. She tumbled backwards, landing on _her_ golden arse, her laughter riding the wind. She was hopelessly in love with him, and even with the grief riding on the edges of her laughter, she felt a lightness settling inside her as well.

"A little warning would have been nice," she complained with a teary smile.

Teagan sat down beside her. She willingly allowed herself to be pulled onto his lap as the tears and laughter subsided, making her at least seem marginally in control. As if that was ever the case.

"I'm sorry, Teagan. This has been such a strange day. Dragons and ashes and ghosts. Oh my," she added, nestling against him.

"You won't forget them if you forgive yourself, Joss. You might even find that thinking of them will hurt less. And I'll listen whenever you want to talk about them. I won't allow you to forget them."

"Next you'll tell me that it isn't dishonoring Brin to be crazy in love with you or marry you," she replied, wondering how long it would take for him to understand what she'd just confessed. It took him two heartbeats.

"Would you repeat that last part?"

"I'm crazy. Big surprise there. Oh. Right," she continued when he frowned at her. "I'm also crazy in love with you and will marry you, if the offer hasn't expired. And the mothers of your children don't mind."

"Does that mean you'll let me through that damnable barrier of yours?" he asked and she smiled, leaning up to kiss him softly.

"You're already through it and on the other side, you poor man. You'll be sorry, mark my words."

They sat quietly for a minute while she gathered her tattered emotions around her. Tears and laughter were close relatives, it seemed. She closed her eyes, which stung from her earlier tears. In the distance she could hear her companions, laughing and talking, a gentle hum of noise that made her realize how much a part of her life they had become. That would teach her to leave the safety of the Tower and go gallivanting around the countryside.

Teagan's arms tightened around her and she kissed his neck, breathing deeply. She felt calm returning, acknowledging to herself that calm was a relative term. His lips whispered naughty things against her ear and Joss was quite happy to listen.

"I suppose we should return to the campfire," he finally said. She loved the reluctance in his voice.

"What a shame. I was hoping you'd take me to bed," she admitted honestly, but stood anyway.

Zevran raised a brow as they rejoined the others and she nodded once. His smile was warm and he patted the spot beside him.

"So, is it true that you had puzzles to solve and riddles to answer and that you saw dead people?" Jowan asked.

"When don't we see dead people? When don't we kill people, for that matter? We should declare a moratorium on dead people and killing people, don't you all agree?" Joss asked, leaning forward to warm her hands.

"Or being killed. That would be even better," Randal agreed rather morosely.

"Say, Joss, why can't you just transmogrify the dragon into a frog? That would make it heaps easier to kill," Cathair asked.

"Oh, good question," Randal agreed, leaning forward with a groan.

"Jowan? Now that you've transmogrified someone, maybe you can answer that question?"

"Not a chance. I still don't know why, when I cast your frog spell, Alistair turned into a rooster."

"I only wish I'd seen that," Joss laughed. "But that's partly the answer. In order to transmogrify, you have to be able to do three things. One is be able to feel the subject's soul, its essence. Brin called it understanding the nature of the beast.

"You also have to have an extraordinary amount of mana available and must be able to control the flow of it because you have to draw a lot of power from the Fade. That, in turn, leaves you susceptible to demons if you don't balance the flow carefully. Demons are not a mage's best friend. Jowan, you're lucky you already have a demon dancing with you because otherwise, you'd be an abomination about now. A dead abomination at that.

"And thirdly, you have to have a very clear picture of what you're transmogrifying someone into. You can't just fling the words of the spell around, make the right hand gestures, and expect the spell to work. You obviously had other things on your mind when you transmogrified Alistair into a cock," Joss snickered.

Laughter ensued and when it ended, she continued. "In other words, don't try this at home, folks. Toadifying is an ancient art and it takes years of practice to master. You don't want to know how many poor Tower mice didn't make the journey from mousehood to toadhood."

"That explains the sudden disappearance of all the mice. I always gave Mr. Wiggums the credit, and a fair number of treats he didn't deserve," Jowan said with a grin. "And message received, oh leader o' mine. I won't try the spell again."

Joss fell silent, remembering lessons in the Tower on rainy days with Brin and Joseph laughing at her feeble attempts at transmogrification. No tears came, no anger. Maybe she would someday understand the nature of herself. It had to say something about her that she understood mice better than herself_, _but she was too tired to work through just _what_ it might say.

She yawned and excused herself, heading for her tent, which, conveniently, happened to be Teagan's tent as well. Shrugging out of her robes, she crawled under the covers and closed her eyes. Teagan was only a few minutes behind her.

She snuggled up to him, letting him warm his feet on her legs, which she thought was quite kind of her. He seemed to think so as well, rewarding her with a kiss that warmed somewhere that was _not_ her legs. She let her fingers drift along his torso, tracing scars and muscles, content not to speak. So it was with some surprise that she heard herself ask the one burning question that remained from their day of revelations.

"About these children of yours? Do they all have a sexy little beard like yours? Or just the boys?"


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N**: _Thank you, Lisa, for your beta-awesomeness and also for helping me sort out just what Teagan would do. I was ready to flip a coin, but your suggestions and encouragement were much better!_

**Rules of Engagement**

Josslyn felt the heavy press of the man holding her in place. Her arms were pinned at her sides by the weight of his legs and she struggled to no avail.

"I'll scream," she warned in a low, thready voice.

"I would advise against that," the man threatened.

"I'm a mage; I can destroy you with a blink of my eyes."

"Even_ I_ know that's not possible; you need your hands free."

"I can still chant, and trust me, I'll chant the biggest fireball you've ever seen, and you'll be so busy being a human torch, you won't have time to hold my arms…"

Joss was stopped by a pair of lips on hers, bruising and passionate. She would resist. She would not give in to – oh, when had his hands found their way inside her robes? Maker's hairy ear! Stop moaning, you traitor!

"Now, swear your oath and I'll release you," the man whispered against her ear. She squirmed, trying to arch into him. _Andraste's fat arse! You really are the weakest woman in Thedas_. _Resist, damn it all, just resist. Oh, who am I trying to fool? Resistance is futile._

"Never," she moaned with far less resolve than she wanted as the man's fingers grazed against her breast.

"Say it," the man said, bending low and nipping at the sensitive skin of her neck.

"I swear."

"What do you swear?" he demanded with quiet authority.

"I swear never to ask about the veracity of the Guardian's claim that you've begat a passel of children," she whispered.

Teagan rolled over, bringing her with him. "Now was that so hard?" he asked, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"That wasn't. You, on the other hand…" she began as she straddled him.

Her robes were hiked up around her hips and he took full advantage of that fact, his fingers whisking along her skin. She shivered, lowering her mouth to his, pulling at his lower lip with her teeth. His fingers continued to stroke and massage her skin and she shivered, feeling her blood heat and slow as it moved through her veins.

A soft thud against the side of the tent startled her and she glanced over, frowning in annoyance.

"Fetch the stick, Styx!" Sister One-Lamb-Short-of-a-Flock urged from nearby. "Oh, that rhymes!" she cooed.

Joss barely had time to roll off a startled Teagan before Styx crashed into the side of the tent. She watched in fascination as the tent shuddered and shook before slowly collapsing in on itself. And on them. Teagan was scrambling for his trousers, no easy task with the tent draping itself over him like a high-priced courtesan.

Joss snorted back her laughter, pushing at the oiled canvas. "Well aren't you glad you asked me to marry you," she snickered. "Look at all the fun we'll have."

**~~~oOo~~~**

The return trip through the tunnels was much quicker than their first sojourn and there was no smiting necessary, much to Randal's dismay. Joss had heard how many times he'd had to smite Wynne, and she couldn't help but chuckle at the thought of the older mage flying head-over-heels with each smite.

When they arrived back at the ancient, ruined temple, Alistair was so relieved to see them that he gave a whoop of joy, and then picked Joss up and swung her around so quickly that she was still dizzy when he set her back down.

"The ashes?" Brother Genitivi asked impatiently.

Joss held up the small pouch and grinned. "Mission accomplished, although I don't recommend that pilgrimage to the faint of heart. And they'll really need to study for some of the tests. Oh, and bring a long coil of rope," she added, winking at Teagan.

"And a small army in case there's another High Dragon," Randal interjected.

"You fought another dragon without me?" Alistair complained. "Why do you always have all the fun?"

"Randal was nearly bit in half and Zevran's dance with the dragon nearly killed him, so yes, I can see why you'd be jealous," she agreed.

"So there were tests? Were they difficult?" Brother Genitivi asked.

Joss felt her smile slip slightly. He had no idea. Teagan wrapped an arm around her waist and said quietly, "More than you can imagine."

Leliana of the Holy Comatose broke in, her voice a cheerful chirp. "Oh, but it was so exciting to hear about their exploits. Did you know that Teagan has children? He and Josslyn are betrothed now and Joss got to see her brother!"

Teagan's arm tightened. "See, she thinks you have children, too," Joss whispered.

"Do you really want to be put into the same category as Leliana?" he whispered back in amusement.

"Ewww, good point. I'll be quiet now."

Wynne spoke up. "You know, Brother Genitivi, many will seek the urn now for their own gain. It is best if this is kept quiet.,"

Josslyn's madness was complete as she found herself in agreement with the old crone. "I concur, unless that urn of ashes is self-sustaining."

Of course Brother Gingerbread couldn't keep it secret because then nobody would know how gifted he was. He stated that he couldn't keep such a discovery to himself, that people deserved to know. Sister Demento agreed, naturally.

Barely resisting the need for serious eye-rolling, Joss said, "Fine, but don't come whining to me when the ashes are all gone. Although, who'd really know if you just cleaned out the firepit and put those ashes in the urn?"

"Josslyn Amell! What a horrible thing to say!" Wynne gasped. And the look on her face, prim lips pressed together in her lined face, was worth any blasphemy that Joss might utter as the woman resembled an avenging prune.

"It has a brain, after all."

"'Twould be most entertaining to see."

"I would suggest charging admission to recoup the cost of the expedition," Zev commented with a smirk.

Randal snorted. "Just mine all the lyrium in there and you can build a hundred temples to Andraste and fill them to the rafters with ashes."

"There's lyrium in the mountain?" Alistair asked.

"It's more like the mountain is made of lyrium," Jowan replied with a grin. "You should have seen Joss, she was glowing blue from it and her spells were just…huge. I can't even imagine how much mana she has available to her."

"Enough to make you croak if you don't stop talking about my blue glow," she retorted.

Naturally, those left behind wanted to hear all the details of their trek and Joss gladly relinquished that duty to the others, moving away from the group. It was then that she realized Teagan would be leaving for Redcliffe as soon as they left the temple and Haven. She sat down so abruptly that the rocky floor smacked her rather painfully on her posterior.

"Ah, my dear Warden, the truth has sunk in at last."

Joss glanced up at Zev and gave him the brightest smile she had. It was pathetically small and weak. "That's fine. It will be easier traveling without a distraction."

"You may lie to others, dear Joss, but don't think to lie to me," he chided, sitting beside her. At least he had the wherewithal to sit down gently.

Sighing, she looked over at Teagan, who was talking quietly to Randal. The young soldier was nodding and glancing around at the others. Fergus joined them. They seemed to be having a very serious discussion. Joss didn't want to know what it was about, although she felt sure part of it was warning Randal to keep his smites handy in case the crazy mage lady needed one or two.

"This is why falling in love is for idiots," she mumbled around a surprisingly large lump in her throat.

Zev shook his head. "You are fortunate to have found it, my lovely Warden. However, should the nights ahead prove cold and lonely, I offer my services, of course."

Joss laughed, bumping shoulders with the assassin. She didn't insult Zev by telling him that if Teagan hadn't come along she would have fallen for him. They would have had ridiculously awesome sex, yes, but falling in love was a different thing altogether.

"I guess I'll find out which of the old adages is true. Does absence make the heart grow fonder? Or is it more a case of out of sight, out of mind?"

Maker's hind tit, she sounded like she was wallowing. She might as well beat her chest and gnash her teeth. "Oh woe is me, alas and alack," she added with a laugh.

"Were I you, dear lady, I would pitch my tent far from the rest of us," Zev commented, helping her to her feet.

"Is that some disparaging remark about how loud I am?"

"Never. There is something quite marvelous about a woman who screams such wicked words."

She tried, unsuccessfully, to glare at the golden-haired elf, but her laughter bubbled up and over. "I'll keep that in mind, should you actually get a chance to warm my tent."

After lunch, they began the descent. Joss stopped at the bottom of the Haven steps and looked back at the small town. "You know, except for the inhospitable and inbred people and the whole dragon cult craziness, it was a very nice village."

Alistair looped an arm around her shoulders as they continued on. "I was ready to leave for Jader in the morning, just in case. Can I say again how relieved I am that I didn't have to?"

"Sure."

"I'm relieved that I didn't have to."

She chuckled. "Me, too. I kind of like being alive At least most days."

"You know, when you marry Teagan, you'll be kind of aunt-like."

"Marrying Teagan will turn me into a creepy crawly? Gee, thanks, Alistair. You've really been working on your compliments, haven't you?"

"What? No! No, no! That's not what I meant. I meant –" he fumbled to a stop and glared at her. "I hate you."

Joss grinned as they continued on. Of course, when she told him what she had planned for him he would probably say it with a lot more heat, but that news could wait a few days. For now, she was content to walk beside the tall man who seemed more like her younger brother than her comrade-in-arms.

"Do you suppose the Chantry will put up a fight when Teagan petitions them for permission to marry you?"

"They don't have the authority now that I'm a Warden and no longer part of the Circle of Magi. And Maker help them if they try to interfere," she said with more bravado than conviction. "But until that pesky Archdemon guy dies, what they do or don't do is irrelevant. Afterwards, I expect I'll be such a hero they'll give me anything I ask for, or I'll be dead and it won't matter anyway."

"Ewww, not the last part," Alistair said with a shudder. "And if you die, Teagan will kill me and I'm too young to die. And handsome. Well, Elissa thinks I'm handsome. She says I'm much better looking than my father."

"Considering the only time I saw your father I was just seven, I can't really say whether that's true or not."

Alistair stopped in his tracks. "You saw my father when you were seven?"

"For a minute. Maybe two minutes, actually. Then I was whisked away. That was during First Enchanter Remille's tenure. A tenure that ended badly for him, I might add. It never pays to betray the ruling monarch."

"You're having a go at me, aren't you?"

"Not at all. Ask Wynne about it. I really don't remember much about the incident."

Alistair hurried to catch up with Wynne and Joss smiled. He really was like having a younger brother and a puppy all in one package. Josslyn's smile faltered as it occurred to her that she had yet to tell her brother-puppy and the other Wardens the truth about slaying the Archdemon, or the reason why Morrigan had been sent with them. Since she planned on sending both Morrigan and Randal with Teagan, she thought telling them would be a good thing. Well, perhaps 'good' was a poor choice of words. After dinner. With copious amounts of whiskey, she decided.

They set up camp at a fork in the road. To the east, a half day's travel time, was a small fishing village where Teagan thought it would be possible to hire a boat. Sailing to Redcliffe would take less than two days, much quicker than the six days it would take to skirt around the lake. To the north was Orzammar, and Cathair decided it would take four days of brisk hiking to reach the gates of the dwarven city.

Teagan was only too happy to set up their tent a fair distance away from the others. Bodahn and Sandal arrived just as Teagan and Fergus went off, bows on their backs, to do the very manly hunting-for-food-thing. Joss still wasn't sure how the dwarf and his son managed to find them every time they set up camp, but she was grateful enough for his supplies that she didn't press the matter.

Dinner was a celebratory feast. To Joss's utter amazement, Elissa was quite a good cook. Joss allowed her to clean the brace of rabbits, and together the two women cooked up a pot of rabbit stew and dumplings, which Joss washed down with a tin cup of whiskey.

"You never mentioned you could cook," Teagan said, working on his second bowl of stew.

"I didn't know I was supposed to list all my talents, oh husband-to-be."

"Certainly, my dear. It's one of the rules of any formal betrothal," he said and she blinked, wondering if he was serious. What she knew about betrothals could be summed up in a word. Nothing.

"So, do I list that before or after my transmogrification talent? And when do you provide me with a list of your talents?"

Teagan smiled, leaning closer. "I prefer to demonstrate my talents," he replied suggestively. She thought that was unfair in the extreme, but also a fine idea.

"Before we have any more to drink we should talk about your departure tomorrow," she said, surprising him with the sudden switch in topics.

He nodded, offering her a hand and helping her to stand. They wandered away from the campfire and found a private spot where only the small sliver of moon provided light. Just as well, he won't see me crying, she thought, girding her loins against just that.

"I won't be departing tomorrow."

Now it was her turn to be surprised. And inarticulate, apparently. "Erm..huh?"

"There isn't any need for me to go back. My sense of duty argued all day with my sense of honor and honor won out. You are my betrothed, the woman I'll be spending the rest of my life with. Why would I leave you when your journey isn't finished?"

"Erm…because your brother needs the ashes?"

"Randal can take the ashes back without my help. Send Wynne with him to assist with any necessary healing."

"Devious man. What if she abominates while we're not around?"

"Make sure that Randal knows what to look for and give him instructions to strike her down if she does."

It all sounded quite reasonable as he explained it. Randal could start to work with the armies that were already amassing at Redcliffe, Wynne would be there to heal and Eamon would have a few weeks to recuperate and regain his strength. Teagan also thought it would be a good idea to send Morrigan along. At this, Joss laughed outright. Morrigan and Wynne in the same house without a buffer? Madness.

"Why Morrigan?" she finally asked, once she had control of her laughter. She blamed the glass of whiskey she'd had earlier.

"Because she still hasn't been completely honest about why she's here, has she? She's been a help, but I have to wonder what her motivation is."

"Yes, about that. I know why, or at least I think she was telling the truth about why she's with us, but I don't want to say more until I've talked with the other Wardens. I had planned to do that tonight but it seems Jowan and Cathair disappeared shortly after dinner. I can't imagine what they're doing."

Teagan chuckled. "The same thing I'd like to be doing with you, I would imagine."

Joss felt a tingling warmth in her stomach at his words. "Are you sure about this, Teagan? Your brother is not going to be pleased to hear that you're gallivanting around the countryside with a promiscuous mage."

"I'm traveling the countryside with my future wife, and I'd like to believe that I'm assisting her in stopping a Blight. I'll write a letter explaining things while you're talking to Randal and the others."

"Sure, because that's exactly the kind of news one wants to _read_ about."

"I've spent the past thirty-eight years doing exactly what Eamon expected of me. I think it's time I spend the next thirty-eight doing what's right for you and me," he replied, pulling her into his arms and kissing her until her toes curled into the insoles of her boots.

"Good call," she said breathlessly.

Returning to camp, Teagan went to their tent to write his letter and she went to talk to Randal, Wynne and Morrigan, deciding to speak to them individually rather than all at once. It was much easier to transmogrify one person at a time and she didn't trust anyone to take the news calmly.

"Now, Randal, listen to me very carefully. If you sleep with Morrigan, I will make sure that you won't be able to do more than _sleep_ with another woman, ever."

Randal's face paled. "Believe me, Joss, I have no desire to sleep with her. I lost all interest when I saw her turn into a spider. You know what female spiders do to their mates, right?"

Joss shuddered. Not only did she not know what they did, she didn't particularly care to know. Randal, however, felt compelled to tell her.

"They eat their mate. Not in a good way," he added.

"Good, keep that in mind, no matter what she says or does."

"You can count on me, Josslyn. And if Wynne gets out of line, I'll smite her bony…I'll do what's necessary."

She patted his arm. "I'm very proud of you, Randal."

Wynne didn't fuss at all about the news. Joss assumed it was because she could toady up to Eamon without anyone making fun of her. The idea of actually toadifying her before she sent her back was tempting but impractical. She'd never met a toad yet that was worth a damn at healing.

"Josslyn, I just want to say that –" Wynne began but Joss held up a hand.

"What needed to be said has been said, Wynne."

The old woman looked ready to argue but, to Josslyn's relief, merely nodded and walked away. Joss wasn't sure her heart could take another surprise. Luckily, Morrigan didn't offer one.

"What madness has seized you that you would entertain such a fool notion?" Morrigan asked, haughty and cold, her golden eyes narrowed.

"No madness, Morrigan. You have yet to be completely honest with me even though I've given you every chance. Perhaps a separation will remind you that you have choices you need to make. Hopefully by the time we return to Redcliffe, you'll have figured out what's really important."

"I will not have to tell Mother about this for her to know of it. She has powers and influence that you cannot possibly imagine."

"I'm willing to risk it. In the meantime, if you figure out the right thing to do before we get back to Redcliffe, we'll be in Orzammar. I doubt it would take you long to get there, at least not as the crow flies."

"Raven. Must I keep reminding you of that?"

Joss grinned. "Right, a big, black bird. Got it."

She watched as the woman, who was no longer an enemy but not quite a friend, struggled with her emotions. Those who thought Morrigan was a cold, haughty creature hadn't looked at her very closely. There were times when Joss felt pity for her; she had obviously had little affection in her life, and knew nothing of how to relate to people. Joss knew all about people skills and her own lack thereof. She also understood putting up barriers for protection. While the barriers they had erected were different, they were still barriers.

"Listen, Morrigan, my offer to help find a different way to protect you from your mother still stands. Think about it and we'll talk when I get back."

"You do realize that I will not put up with that Circle mouthpiece, Wynne? Should she lecture me on the Circle's merits, she will regret it."

"Understood. Just don't do anything that calls attention to the fact that you're an apostate."

Morrigan titled her chin, sneering. "I have always been an apostate. I do not need your protection from the templars."

"Good to know," Joss said to the woman's retreating back.

"All set?" Teagan asked, wrapping an arm around her waist.

"Yes, I think. I almost feel sorry for the people of Redcliffe. An apostate, an abomination and a Warden. Hmmm, that sounds like the start of a joke, doesn't it?"

Teagan laughed, pulling her towards the campfire and the circle of people gathered around it. Ale and whiskey flowed and the stories took on the kind of exaggeration that often accompanied strong drink. Joss found herself curled up against Teagan as he explained to a rapt crowd about their daring swoop across a bottomless chasm.

She must have dozed off because suddenly she felt herself being picked up and carried off to her tent. She was almost positive it was Teagan's arms wrapped around her. She reached up and felt for his beard and then nodded. She let him help her undress and then she helped him undress. Their fingers appeared to be all thumbs.

"Teagan?" she asked, once they had settled into their bedroll.

"My dear?"

"I'm glad you're staying."

Teagan pulled her close, his lips finding hers in another toe-curling kiss, all tongue and teeth and heat. She threaded her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer still, until his body wrapped around hers.

She could definitely get used to the whole betrothal thing, she decided as she drifted off to sleep an hour later, right into the Fade. She blinked, looking around at the thick mist and the trees that were heavily adorned with strands of moss. She felt the hair on her arms bristle and stand up. The air was dank and heavy. A shack, little more than a hovel, stood in a small clearing, the door open.

"Ah, Warden. How kind of you to stop by and visit an old, old woman."


	33. Chapter 33

**A/N: **_Thank you to those reading, reviewing and adding to favorites. I appreciate your spending some of your time on this story.  
Thank you also to my friend and beta, Lisa. You are awesome incarnate._

**Fade Tripper**

"It's been a hard day's night; I should be sleeping like a log. So tell me old, old woman, what am I doing in your neck of the Fade?" Joss asked around a large yawn. She was just a bit bleary-eyed from lack of sleep, or the whiskey, or possibly both.

She was also extremely proud of herself. Her voice barely shook, except for that strange vibrato, and she leaned against a nearby tree, crossing her ankles nonchalantly. Just because she needed to lean against the tree so she would stop swaying didn't mean she couldn't at least _appear _to be nonchalant. Inside her was that panicked little girl who couldn't decide whether to grab her hair and scream, or run, shouting, into the dark beyond the Korcari Wilds.

"You look pale, my dear. Such obstacles in your way, so many problems. I know you feel these are the worst of times and I do believe it's true. The question is, my dear Warden, did I bring you into the Fade, or are you responsible for this meeting?" Flemeth the Enigmatic asked. There was an equal measure of humor and curiosity in the woman's voice.

Always with the mysterious mumbo-jumbo, Joss thought sourly. Why couldn't the woman just speak plainly and be done with it? She felt like Owain's pet mouse, the one he would place in the maze he'd made, and watch to see how long it took the mouse to find its way out to the cheese waiting for it on the other side. Joss shook her head. She had no idea why she was there, but she was certain she hadn't conjured the woman or the dream she was now in.

"Well, I don't know why I came here tonight, but I've got the feeling that something's not right," Joss replied dryly. Good, she could match the old hag's confusing and obscure claptrap with her own. And her tone would have sounded dry had she not slurred her words. She blamed the whiskey still coursing through her veins. Fear had nothing to do with it.

Flemeth shimmered and wavered as Joss watched her, and then appeared in a studded leather and bright silver ensemble that flattered her far more than the old, begrimed gown and straggly grey hair ever had. Joss rubbed her eyes and looked again at the older woman's amused expression. A Fade party trick. Had she wanted to, she could do the same, though she doubted she would look quite as good as Flemeth.

"That's a new look for you. Is it supposed to ease my mind by making you appear more approachable?"

"Does it?"

"I really don't want to be here, Flemeth. I want to be asleep, so please just say whatever it is you have to say and be done with the games," Joss replied and pushed herself away from the tree. She tried very hard to walk in a straight line towards the woman, and was just about to pat herself on the back when she stumbled and nearly landed on her face .

"You have something of mine and I very much want you to return it."

"Ah. If you mean your daughter, she's not mine to return. Or keep, come to think of it. You really ought to talk to her in person. Or, you know, in her dreams, instead of mine."

The two women stared at each other and Joss refused to look away but it took all of her concentration and willpower not to examine the ground instead. She was tired and the days ahead weren't going to be all roses and raindrops. She didn't need an interfering dragon-witch-thing in her dreams as well.

Flemeth laughed at her comment, but not in a way that reassured Joss. At. All. Obviously she wasn't after the return of her daughter, so what could she want? Oh, possibly the grimoire that Joss had taken after killing the woman that was now tormenting her. For all the good it had done Joss, Flemeth might as well have it back. She really ought to have had Morrigan deciphering it, she supposed, but not until Morrigan gave up the fool notion of having the Archdemon's baby. Or Old God baby. Or whatever baby it was that the young shapeshifter wanted.

Come to think of it, did Joss really want to know what either of the two women wanted? Not that Flemeth would actually tell her in a way made it perfectly obvious what she wanted. Better to speak in gibberish. Everything the witch said was ambiguous malarkey and Joss had no reason to believe her current Fade trip would be any different.

"My daughter?" Flemeth snorted, which was never a good sign, Joss had come to understand. "Morrigan will do as she has always done."

Joss glanced around the clearing. There were trails to the east and north. Or straight ahead of her and to the right. She didn't actually have any idea in which direction they led. The Fade was disorienting enough when one was sober. Liquored up, it was even worse. She contemplated making a run for it or even trying to cast a spell that would take her to a different Fade dream. She doubted, however, that she'd be able to before Flemeth skewered her, or neutered her, or did something else equally unpleasant.

Joss refused to be baited by the woman's words. She had fallen for that trick last time she'd run into her in the Fade. Which was why, she thought with mild disgust, she apparently felt compelled to ask: "What does Morrigan always do?"

"Precisely what I expect her to do."

"Ah, that's as clear as mud, thank you," Joss retorted, moving slightly to her right. She chanted softly and moved her hands. A narrow ribbon of blue light stretched out to the trail on the right, only to suddenly wink out. _Dragon-witch-thing-bitch._

"How unkind of you to attempt to leave before we've finished talking," Flemeth said, smiling in a way that did not evoke pleasing thoughts.

"Listen, it's been a really nice chat but, seriously, I have a very long list of things to do, and visiting you in the Fade isn't even on the first page," Joss replied with far more confidence than she felt. In fact, judging by the size of the goosebumps on her arms, she was as far from confident as it was humanly possible to be.

"Change is coming, Josslyn. It is inevitable and there is nothing you can do to stop it. You may slow it down, but in five years or ten years, change will arrive. The question is whether you will accept the change or become lost trying to prevent it."

Well, nothing ominous about those words. At. All. Oh wait, yes there was! Why couldn't Flemeth just sit down and have a normal conversation about the weather or the price of Orlesian silk? Not that Joss actually knew what the current price of silk, Orlesian or otherwise, was at the moment. And the witch's words had their desired effect, as there were goosebumps on top of goosebumps running like scared little girls and boys up and down her arms.

"The future's not ours to see, Flemeth, so unless you are even more powerful than I believe you to be, your gobbledygook is just that. But thanks for the heads up. Forewarned is forearmed."

And now her self-derision was complete. She was speaking in clichés, of all things, and sounding nearly as incoherent as Flemeth. Who was ancient and therefore had an excuse, though Joss supposed she could blame the whiskey on her own nonsensical babbling. She gritted her teeth and stumbled on, determined, if not totally articulate.

"You're as cold as ice; you're willing to sacrifice anything, including your daughter, for this change? Because I 'm not letting her have an Old God baby, no matter what you say or do."

Flemeth threw her head back with a hearty laugh, a sound that was anything but reassuring. "My dear, do you really think Morrigan is my _only_ daughter? She is merely one of my many children."

Children? Not just daughters? Well sure, no doubt a veritable army of Flemeth's children were out there, doing Maker knew what, while she was busy trying to end a Blight. Joss did not want to know any more details. She really, really didn't, yet she managed to hide that fact very well, asking, "You have sons, too?"

Flemeth gave an inscrutable smile, and folded her arms across her chest, obviously not about to answer Josslyn's question. And why should she, really? It wasn't as if Josslyn had any power over the creature. And damn it all, couldn't she just show a bit of restraint once in awhile? She didn't need or want to know, what the old bat was nattering on about. What did it matter? She knew what Flemeth was after and she wasn't going to get it, not if Josslyn could prevent it. She needed to just be quiet until the old woman was done talking, and then leave as fast as her clumsy feet could travel.

"Well, as long as I'm still here, why don't you want me to visit Loghain's dreams? What is so important about him that you would risk all of Ferelden falling to the Blight?" _Oh, brilliant, Josslyn. Way to keep her talking instead of making your escape. Idiot. _

"Ferelden will not fall to the Blight, but Loghain will do nothing to help save it. That's all you need to know."

Sure, because that made everything fall right into place. Joss felt a flutter of unease. Well, actually, it was more like a tidal wave of unease. Flemeth was crazy, but in a very sane way; she had a plan, and crazy people with plans were to be feared. A lot.

"Great, in that case, I'll just mosey along."

"Not quite yet, Warden. I want you to consider whether it is wise or foolhardy to keep what is mine."

"Sure, I'll think about it," Joss said, taking another step to her right and focusing all her willpower on a spell that would whisk her to another dreamer's domain. This time, the pale blue ribbon of light snaked along the trail, soon lost in the mist.

"You know, until you tell me specifically what it is of yours I have, I'm not going to be able to return it, even if I want to. Just as a matter of interest, I mean."

Again, Flemeth laughed, and again, Joss felt the hair on her arms rise.

"You're a bright young woman, Warden. I'm confident you'll figure it out. When you do, you'll know what to do."

Oh, lovely. Direct and to the point. Or not.

"Now, one more bit of advice: a prophesy to help guide you, if you will. I see a bad moon rising. I see trouble on the way. Be sure you are ready for it."

Joss, still inching towards her escape route, tripped on a tree-root she was sure hadn't been there seconds before. She sprawled on her hands and knees in the dirt. Lovely. Nothing like a dignified retreat. She scrambled to her feet and pushed her hair out of her face to glare at the woman.

"Couldn't you just find someone else to share dreams with? Morrigan? Loghain? The Archdemon?"

Flemeth shook her head with a smirk, before intoning: "Every breath you take, every move you make, I'll be watching you. Every bond you break, every step you take, I'll be watching you."

Oh, joy! What could be better than having a dragon-witch-thing watching everything she did? Oh, right, about a million other things. "Super. Thanks." And what bond did she have that she would or could break? Maker's gnarled old arse, couldn't the woman speak frankly?

Josslyn's brain was swirling with her newfound knowledge. Not that she actually understood most of it, and the ramifications of the things she did understand were unknown, so what had been the purpose of the visit? Oh right, to keep her confused and off guard. Or to scare the hair off her head. She suspected it was the latter, actually. And did Flemeth really have a whole bunch of sons and daughters? Was another one of them already traveling with them? If so, who? Her mind boggled at that. She'd think about that another time. Her brain, slowed down by the whiskey, refused to actually think at all.

"Until the next time we meet, Warden."

"Can't wait," Joss lied without turning around, barely able to restrain herself from running like her arse was on fire.

She didn't slow down until she entered the raw Fade and even then, it was only to catch her breath. She stared at the blue wisp of her spell, wondering if she should follow it or try and wake herself up. She should warn Niall that Wynne was on her way with the ashes. She should have a talk with Morrigan when she woke up. She should hide under a bed until the Blight was over.

Rather than his customary place on top of a mountain, Niall was on an island. Two women, wearing next to nothing, were on either side of him. Both women looked strangely familiar. One, a beautiful blonde, was fanning him. The other, an auburn-haired lovely, was peeling grapes for him. She could certainly see Merrisoo fanning a man if it made her seem like the perfect mage. The other woman was completely out of character.

"In your dreams!" she called out to her friend. Startled, Niall gave her a look of sheer panic, and the women blinked out of existence. "And peel your own damned grapes," she muttered as she came to sit beside him. "Also," she added with a grin, "I don't have a mole above my right –"

"No! That wasn't you," Niall interjected. Loudly. With panic.

"Oh, great, then forget I said anything."

Niall rolled his eyes and turned to her with an embarrassed grin. "So, you either have the ashes or they don't exist. Which is it?"

Joss patted his cheek. "We have the ashes and a group is departing for Redcliffe tomorrow morning. Or is it this morning? I'm a bit fuzzy on that right now."

"How long will it take for them to arrive? Arl Eamon is fading fast and if we don't rouse him soon, I'm not sure my healing skills will be enough to restore him," Niall said, his earlier embarrassment giving way to gloom.

Joss grinned. "You're going to love me for this. Wynne is returning to Redcliffe with the ashes. She shouldn't have any trouble restoring him to full health. And sucking up to him. Think of the fun you'll have watching that."

Niall's gloom deepened. Really, Joss couldn't blame him. Wynne would lord it over Niall, make sure he realized how necessary she was and how superfluous he was. "Not to worry, I'm also sending Morrigan, that lovely Wilder lass, daughter to Flemeth."

"All this time. All this bloody time, I thought you cared about me," he said, sighing dramatically.

"I love and adore you, Niall, it's just that you're such fun to torture. Besides, I doubt she'll stay long."

"Pardon me while I jump for joy," he replied glumly.

Joss leaned over and kissed his cheek. "You love all this abuse, and you know it."

"Sadly true. Honestly, Joss, this has been an eye-opener for me. I wrote to my mother and I'm waiting to hear back now. Thank you for that."

Shaking her head, she bumped shoulders with him. "Don't thank me, for all we know your mother is a hag."

"I hadn't thought of that. Thanks."

"My pleasure. How's Connor?"

"Better. He remembers more of his encounter with the demon than he let on. Once I mentioned my time with the Sloth Demon, he began to open up."

"Good. Is the arlessa talking to him?"

"Yes, but she has that wariness about her that most non-mages have. She tries to hide it but it's there."

"No doubt she fears he'll use his wily mage ways on her," Joss joked, remembering Ser Haggerty with some fondness. When she was twelve, the templar had been sent to the Highever chantry because he was terrified of the wily mages in the Tower. As he was so easy to rattle, she had actually missed him, although many of the other mages had not.

"At least she's trying. That has to count for something, even if Connor doesn't appreciate it now."

"True enough," Joss agreed.

"So, how difficult was it to find the ashes?"

Joss launched into the tale of their adventures in the Lyrium Mountain and he was fascinated by the account, especially the puzzles, which he had no trouble answering. He was laughing as she told him about the riddles she had offered in return, and his eyes boggled when she recounted swinging across the Gaping Chasm of Doom. The Cultists seemed to be his favorite part of the story and he made the same observation that she had about Keili's birthplace.

"So, you saw both Joseph and Brin? That must have been both painful and joyful," he remarked at the end of the tale, reaching out to take her hand in his.

They sat in an easy silence, the silence of long-standing friends that didn't require words. Finally, she squeezed his hand, feeling the pull of wakefulness teasing at the edges of the Fadescape.

"By the way, I'm betrothed to Bann Teagan. Don't tell anyone, though. I want to see the look on the Arl of Redcliffe's face when Teagan tells him the happy news. I suspect we'll need a healer standing by."

Niall stared at her, mouth agape. Nothing unflattering about his absolute shock that a man would fall in love with her and want to marry her. At. All. She reached out and closed his mouth with a snap.

"Your surprise that someone would think me worthy of marriage is touching, you wretched man," she said with a wry laugh. "Oh, wait! No, it's not."

"Poor, brave fool," Niall said with feigned pity.

"Bastard."

"Bitch."

"I love you."

"Apparently not enough," he replied with a chuckle.

"Just enough," she answered, and was still smiling when she woke up.

Blinking, she sat up, glancing around the tent. Teagan had already risen, as had the sun. From the sound of things, everyone else had risen as well. Obviously, she'd been dilly-dallying in the Fade. Yawning, she stretched and then reached for her clothes.

"Ah, you're finally awake."

"You'll never guess where all I've been while the rest of you slept and were completely indifferent to my plight," she responded dramatically.

Teagan looked bewildered for a moment, and then he frowned, looking fierce and rather like a painting she'd seen of Captain Merrimack, a pirate that had sailed the Waking Sea and plagued the coastline, plundering at will. She rather liked the dangerous, angry glint in Teagan's eyes, or would have, had it not been directed at her.

"You went into the Fade without having someone watch over you? What were you thinking?" he asked in a cold, hard voice.

Oh, wonderful. The only man in Thedas who could reduce her to tears was about to do just that. The tears were as unwelcome as Flemeth's intrusion into her dreams had been. She blinked them back and, while a part of her understood his natural concern manifesting itself in anger, a phenomenon she was very familiar with, she felt a bit of her own anger at his assumption.

"You know, I wasn't thinking, Teagan. I was actually sleeping. One minute I was curled up against a man who insists on hogging the covers, and the next I was in the Korcari Wilds, chatting with the polysemous, perplexing, and puzzling Flemeth."

He reached out and pulled her close. "Isn't there some way to stop her from doing that?"

"I suppose if I give her what she wants, she'll let me alone. And if I knew what that was I'd be seriously tempted. Unless it was something that I wanted, in which case, she can take a hike."

"Maker's breath, Joss! This is serious. You told me if you die in the Fade, you'll be a Tranquil and from what I've seen of them, that isn't comforting."

"I know it's serious, Teagan, but I don't think she wants to kill me, she's too busy toying with me. I get the feeling she's using me for something.

"Now," she went on with a bright smile, "can you continue chastising me over breakfast? I'm starving."

After a hearty breakfast, Joss went in search of Randal, who was packed and waiting impatiently for Wynne and Morrigan. It was time he knew the truth about Wardens, as much as she hated to ruin his day. He was shocked and then immediately volunteered to make the killing blow, heroic idiot that he was. He was everything a Warden should be, and Joss almost felt guilty about how un-Warden-like she was.

"If things go according to plan, that won't be necessary. I'm sending Alistair to Jader to find some Orlesian Wardens. One of them can make the killing blow. It's the least they can do since they haven't lifted a finger to help us build an army and fight the damned Blight," she said. "One for all and all for one, my arse. Brothers and Sisters from all the lands who join together to defeat the Blights and save mankind. What a load of hooey," she concluded.

"Don't get mad, get even?" he asked with a chuckle. "That's hardly heroic."

"Dying isn't heroic, Randal. Gathering an army against impossible odds? That's heroic. Kicking demons on their backside? Heroic. Dealing with those shrewish Dalish? Heroic. Doing all of that while dodging assassins and bandits and crazy people? Heroic."

Randal was laughing outright. "Fair enough."

"Now, on to your other instructions. If Wynne so much as twitches, smite her. Niall will help watch her for signs that her spirit is becoming hostile. If that happens, strike her down."

"I will, but it won't be easy. She may be a pain in the backside, but she looks like someone's grandmother."

"So, put a feedbag over her head, but strike her down. You saw what the last possessed person did in Redcliffe. We don't need a repeat of that."

Randal blanched. "Not to worry, Commander, I'll do it."

"Have a safe trip. Help train the men and prepare for more soldiers to arrive." She patted his cheek. "You're a good man, Randal, despite what Cathair says."

"What? What's she been saying?" he demanded and then laughed when he saw Joss grinning. "You have an odd sense of humor."

"Like I haven't heard that a time or twenty," she retorted. "Expect us in three weeks. Less, if things go smoothly."

"Yes, Commander."

Next, Joss went to find Morrigan, who was packing the last of her gear, frosty and disdainful. Joss wondered how thick the woman's walls were, but shook the thought off. She was getting entirely too damned mellow and sentimental. She blamed Teagan and falling in love with the aforementioned.

"I had a chat with your mother last night. Apparently she thinks I have something that she desperately wants returned. Since she let me have the grimoire with very little resistance, and I know just how easy that fight was, having fought a High Dragon of Death, I can't image that she wants the book returned. What else could she want, Morrigan?"

Morrigan, always pale to begin with, turned a whiter shade of pale. "I have no idea," the woman replied coolly.

"Well, that's a shame. I was just about to turn the grimoire over to you and let you read it while you were in Redcliffe, but since you still can't seem to bring yourself to trust me, I guess I should reciprocate and not trust you, either."

"'Tis very childish of you," Morrigan remarked, shaking her head. "If you know that the grimoire is of no importance to you, I do not know why you refuse to give it to me."

"It is childish, isn't it? Rather like you lying to me," Joss agreed with her brightest smile.

"Oh, very well. If Mother is not in search of the grimoire, I suggest she wants the amulet that mangy beast of yours brought back to camp."

Joss had all but forgotten the amulet, that was, the last time she'd seen it, at the bottom of her pack, wrapped in a clean linen handkerchief. "Why would she want that?"

"Why, indeed? Perhaps you should ask Mother the next time she visits you?"

"Or you could tell me?"

But Morrigan didn't know; that much was obvious by the look of confusion that passed rapidly across the woman's features. If Joss had blinked, she would have missed the look entirely. "So, you have no idea either. Well, until I know, she isn't getting it, anymore than you are getting your Old God soul-baby-thing."

"Then I suggest you prepare yourself for more nocturnal visits."

Oh, happy day! Or night. She'd have to figure out a way to avoid Flemeth in the Fade. Right, because she was just that good. Or not. She resigned herself to more visits and then thought she ought to drop in to see Petra in the Fade soon, hoping the First Enchanter had learned something about the symbols on the grimoire and the amulet. Because obviously she was due for a run of good luck.

"One more thing and then I'll hand over the grimoire, Morri."

The woman flinched and her golden eyes narrowed. "If it has anything to do with your puerile fascination for my anatomy, I do not wish to hear it."

"Well, that's disappointing; I thought we were making headway. Or breastway, as the case may be. But no, that's not what I was going to ask."

"Very well, what is it you would ask of me?"

"Did you know you had a bunch of sisters and brothers?"

Morrigan sniffed in that haughty, derisive way that made Joss want to tweak the witch's nose. Sharply. "Naturally. My mother insisted on regaling me with tales of her various encounters, especially those who were able to fulfill their duty."

"Oh, that's kind of sick, actually. Do you have any idea how many other children she has? Or where they all are?"

Morrigan scoffed, something that sounded much more normal coming from her than from Joss. In fact, it seemed to suit the woman. "I do not, though many live amongst the Chasind. And Mother has a relationship with the Dalish. I am sure some live amongst them. They are tasked with learning the old magics. Much as I was tasked to learn shapeshifting."

The more Joss learned about Flemeth, the more convinced she became that the biggest threat to Thedas, and more especially to Ferelden, was not the Blight, but the Witch of the Wilds, which was not a happy thought. At. All. Neither was the next one that struck her. And once there, it was an insidious, creeping vine that wouldn't let go of her brain.

Brinmar had been from a Chasind tribe.


	34. Chapter 34

**A/N:** _Disclaimer: This is a filler chapter as our intrepid group makes their way to Orzammar._ _You have been warned. Also, my continued thanks to my very helpful and eagle-eyed beta, Lisa.  
_

**On the Road Again**

The harder Joss tried _not _to think about the possibility of Brin being a child of Flemeth the more firmly entrenched in her mind the thought became. As Joss dug out the grimoire from her pack, she wished Flemeth had visited her before she'd seen Brin during her trip through the Gauntlet. At least then she could have asked him. Not knowing was like having an itch she couldn't scratch.

Staring down at the grimoire, still unaccountably warm to the touch, she wondered if there was a list of Flemeth's children somewhere in the book, and she rifled through the pages. Of course, it was still just an odd bunch of runic symbols and words that meant nothing to her because they were written in a foreign language. She let loose a string of colorful curses.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were frustrated," Teagan said with a hint of amusement.

Joss glared up at him from her seat on the ground, where she was surrounded by her meager possessions and her empty pack. His smile played tag with his lips and her glare wobbled. "What would you think if someone you knew was related to Flemeth?" she asked, striving for a nonchalant tone and almost succeeding. "Not that I know anyone who is, mind you," she added quickly.

Eyebrow quirked, Teagan crouched down beside her to help her repack. She lifted the amulet from the ground, the one that had a leafless tree etched upon it. The one that gave an almost inaudible hum. The creepy one with the lock of hair, the drop of blood and the fang contained within. She shivered. Why had Styx run away to find it? What the blazes did it mean?

Opening the amulet, Joss stared at the lock of hair. A light brown color. Not Brin's. She sighed in relief and snapped the amulet shut again. _Of course not Brin's, you idiot!_ She felt guilty and embarrassed for even looking inside the amulet. Sighing, she slid it into her pack.

"You mean someone other than Morrigan?" Teagan asked, watching her intently as she reached back into the pack and extracted the amulet.

"Yes, someone close to you, that you cared about?"

Without knowing why, she slipped the amulet over her head and tucked it beneath her robes, next to the amulet Brin and Joseph had given her during their strange encounter looking for the ashes. She then looked at Teagan and laughed at his expression; one part horror, one part panic.

"Are you – you aren't saying that you're related to Flemeth?" he finally asked, his usual polished demeanor tarnished by a fair bit of dread.

Choking back her laughter nearly robbed her of her ability to speak. Flustered, Teagan leaned away from her for a minute and then shook his head. He leaned forward again and continued stuffing her things into her pack while she tried to control her maniacal need to laugh by pressing her hand firmly against her mouth. Suppressing laughter was like trying to catch bubbles, she decided as another peal tickled her throat.

"Can you imagine the look on Morrigan's face if I told her we were sisters?" she asked around a snicker. "Although then Morri would have to show me how those magical mounds of hers work because of our shared ancestry."

"You _do_ have a unique sense of humor," Teagan remarked with a shake of his handsome head.

"I know, I know. It's just that, well, what if Brin was one of Flemeth's many children? He was a Chasind and Morrigan told me some of her siblings were sent to live with the Chasind. He was a brilliant mage; he knew so much more than I did."

Of course, she immediately wished she could snatch her words back and stuff them into her head. He didn't need to know her every thought because it would drive him out of her life in short order. Or off his rocker. He was too good a man to be driven insane by her lunacy; he didn't deserve that fate. And she loved him; she'd miss him if he went crazy.

With a sympathetic smile, she climbed to her feet and brushed the dirt from her gown, hoping he would forget she'd said anything. Ha, might as well ask the Archdemon to dance the Remigold with her. Not that she actually knew all the steps of that particular dance. Or, well, any dance for that matter.

"Josslyn, there are thousands of Chasind, by all accounts. The odds of Brinmar being one are negligible."

Reasonable and rational, his words did nothing to restore her equanimity. She felt off-kilter and just the slightest bit on the wrong side of composed. But any answer she sought wasn't going to be found by hanging around a fork in the road while the darkspawn marched northward. Not that the thoughts suddenly dried up and went away. Oh no, they sat in her brain and continued to try and break it.

"Right you are."

She took the grimoire to Morrigan, who was standing a little apart from Old Mother Wynne and Randal. "I trust you," Joss said, handing the book to the dark-haired witch.

Morrigan's eyes widened. She was clearly startled, but took the book and looked down at its embossed cover. She glanced at Joss and then slipped the grimoire into her own pack. The look of disbelief hadn't exactly been flattering, but it had been replaced by an almost friendly stare.

"You have my thanks," the woman finally replied quietly, without the least hint of her usual haughtiness.

Joss blinked, as it was evidently _her_ turn to be surprised. "Let me know if you figure anything out that might be of use," she finally managed to say around her own surprise.

Morrigan's golden eyes narrowed and her haughtiness returned in full force. "Do not entertain any foolish notions that this will be of any use in ending the Blight. If Mother wanted us to have this book, there will be no useful information contained within it."

"Way to burst my bubble, Morri," Joss replied, watching the woman flinch.

They eyed each other, and, for the space of a heartbeat, Joss thought the other woman was going to soften again, give her a smile, or make some other friendly gesture. Ha! Instead, Morrigan turned and began to walk down the narrow road that led to the fishing village.

"Wynne, get Eamon back to health as quickly as possible. Do not harass Niall, stay away from Connor and do your best not to alienate the soldiers."

Wynne huffed, folding her arms across her chest and rocking slightly on her feet. Instead of giving her grief over the instructions, she said, "You do know you're sending away your only healer."

Joss widened her eyes and brought her hands to her cheeks in feigned shock. "Oh, what was I thinking? Oh, right," she continued, her voice probably more caustic than it needed to be, "I was thinking that Jowan has some healing experience and I actually learned quite a lot from Lucian Caravel's potions classes and Ines's botany lessons."

Wynne raised a brow, continuing to rock back and forth in silent disapproval, before giving voice to it. "Yes, I've heard your claims that you can make healing potions from hay and dirty socks."

"Well, not really potions, but definitely poultices. For potions I also need a bit of steeped tea."

Wynne clucked her disapproval and for a wild moment, Joss was tempted to call Jowan over to transmogrify the old woman into a hen but decided time was short. With that decision, Joss turned on her heel and went to say her farewells to Randal, who was slowly inching down the trail, anxious to be on his way.

"I'll see you soon, Randal. Make sure that the women don't tell Eamon about Teagan's betrothal to the crazy mage lady. If he finds out before I'm there to see his expression, I'll hold you personally responsible."

"Yes, I know and I'll be croaking until the end of days."

"Right you are. And please, keep Fergus and Elissa's presence a secret. Remind the ladies of that as well. For whatever reason, they don't want anyone to know they survived Ostagar."

"Sure, any other secrets you want me to keep? I mean, besides the Grey Warden ones?"

She gave the man a quick hug, which made him blush to his roots, and then watched until the group disappeared around a bend in the road before she made her way to her own party and rounded them up. Teagan and Fergus were sure there was a tavern and inn just south of Gherlen's Pass. The thought of sleeping in a real bed, next to Teagan, was all the incentive Joss needed to set a brisk pace.

It was as if the entire group conspired to keep her thoughts turned away from Brin and his possible parentage. She wasn't allowed even a moment of walking along the rutted road without someone beside her. She sped up, they sped up. She slowed down, they slowed down. Finally, she gave up and just waited for the next person to take their turn distracting her.

Sister One-Bee-Short-of-a-Hive came up to walk beside her, a typical Orlesian moue twisting her lips. Joss still hadn't been able to replicate it, and probably didn't want to, even if she could. It really wasn't a very attractive look, she decided.

"Do you truly not believe in the Maker?"

Well, that wasn't what she'd expected from the batty lay sister. "Hmm, faith is a funny thing. I have faith in the sun rising every morning, in the inherent goodness in Teagan, and in Alistair's ability to make the worst lamb and pea stew in Ferelden," Joss began.

"Hey! I heard that!" Alistair called over his shoulder.

"True is true, Alistair. Why else do you think I used it to cure my rash?" she called back.

"My nefarious plan not to cook worked!" he retorted with a sinister laugh that ended in a coughing fit. Fergus pounded him on the back so hard that Alistair stumbled forward, and Joss braced herself, waiting for him to connect face-first with the dirt, but he managed to stay upright.

"That will no longer be the case now that we know it was just an evil plot," she chuckled.

"Oh, good point. I suppose it's too late to say I was just joking."

"Way too late."

Of course, Sister Leliana of the Daft and Delirious didn't give up on her desire to know the state of Josslyn's soul. "You do not believe the Maker is the one, true god?"

"Let me put this as delicately as I can, Lay Sister Leliana," Joss began politely, quite pleased with how reasonable she sounded. "The deity known as the Maker abandoned his first children because of a mistake he made in creating them. Think what would happen if a parent abandoned a child because they weren't happy with the way the child turned out. Why should the Maker get a pass?

"Then, he gave his second children free will, and got his knickers knotted when they exercised it. Well, supposing, of course, that a supreme being actually wears knickers. Or anything, for that matter.

"He stays away for…well… Maker knows how long, and only comes back to his children when he lusts after a singing barbarian. And just what does he do for her, to show his love for his children, and her in particular? Demands she free the slaves and when she is left to burn at the stake, betrayed, he doesn't free her. Oh no, instead he goes off in another snit, leaving her to die.

"And finally, I have to wonder what he was thinking when he created snakes and spiders and all manner of creepy crawlies. Why would any sane entity do such a thing? Now, I don't know about you, but a snitty deity capable of such bad judgment isn't something I'm going to put a lot of faith in."

Somewhere during her speech, she'd heard Leliana the Fatuous and Foolhardy gasp. Loudly. Joss let it go unremarked upon because, really, she didn't mind that Leliana had faith in the Maker. She just wasn't buying into the whole benevolent god thing.

"But he came to me in my dreams. He spoke to _me_," the red-haired woman breathed reverentially.

Or, Joss thought with a wry grin, the woman had eaten bad mushrooms and dreamt the entire thing. She kept that thought to herself. "Then you're fortunate. Perhaps the next time he speaks to you, you can ask him why he created mages, only to ensure they are locked away. Or why he thought the Blights would be a good thing. You know, just the inconsequential things."

There was a long pause, in which she could almost hear the sounds of Sister Lunacy's brain cranking and turning like rusty old gears left unused for too long. Joss almost felt sorry for the woman. Almost.

"But I – I," the lay sister stammered. "I have no words," she finished, snapping her mouth shut firmly.

Well, that's a win-win situation, Joss thought, trying not to grin and nearly succeeding. The young lay sister fell back, her place taken by Cathair.

"Please, no lectures," Joss commented to the young warrior. "I already know there's a special place in the Void set aside just for me."

"None planned, Commander. In fact, I didn't think it was possible to get her to be quiet."

"I didn't actually intend that, but it was a nice side-effect," Joss agreed.

"Say, what's the Grey Warden policy on fraternization?"

Policy? Did the Wardens have policies, or just secrets? She certainly hadn't found a rulebook of any kind. Not that she thought there was such a thing. Still, it would have been nice to have a notebook filled with the various and assorted items every new Warden should know. Like how to kill an Archdemon. Yes, that would definitely have been nice.

"What I know about the Grey Wardens is not enough to fill a tea-cup, but my personal philosophy is this: life is short so grab your fun where you can, and damn the consequences. It's almost always worth it."

"I agree, but Jowan is sure he'll be tossed in a dungeon in Weisshaupt if he and I _fraternize_."

"It seems to me that the First Warden, who probably has no idea we even exist, wouldn't really be concerned with two fraternizing Wardens. He appears to be too busy keeping secrets and not sending help to his fellow Wardens."

"You aren't worried about the First Warden's wrath?"

Joss snorted, which was not her most attractive sound, but really, what had the First Warden done for her or the other Ferelden Wardens? "He can kiss my as –" she began, but heard Teagan clear his throat from just behind her. "Assassin," she finished with a hint of a smile. "Do what you want, Cathair, and if Jowan is concerned, send him to me and I'll tell him the same. He still has an unhealthy fear of authority figures."

"Thank you, Commander."

"On second thought, if you're going to insist on calling me that, maybe I'll just let you two sort it out."

Cathair's smile surfaced; a rare thing on any given day. Joss found she was smiling in response. "I know you don't want to be our commander, but it's too late. Even Alistair, who has seniority, defers to you."

"That just makes you all idiots," Joss retorted. "As you've all enjoyed pointing out frequently, and loudly, I don't exactly shine in the people skills department."

"No, but for an impious, cheeky mage you have a fair amount of common sense."

"I do?" Joss asked, surprised and flattered. She preened, her chest puffing out.

"Well, more than Jowan or Alistair, at any rate."

Josslyn's chest un-puffed in a hurry and she laughed. "And you think _my_ people skills are bad?"

Cathair smiled and then increased her pace to catch up with Jowan, leaving Joss to walk alone. The silence was actually refreshing, it just didn't last long. Styx and Fergus both came to walk beside her at the same time.

"Teyrn Cousland," she said politely. She liked the affable giant of a man, but was also intimidated by him. He's lost everyone he loved, except his sister, and still managed to carry on and even laugh and joke. He was also another one of those nobles who actually was noble. She was completely perplexed by people like him.

"Enchanter Amell," he replied with a boyish grin. "I've come to ask a favor."

Of course. Someone always wanted something from her. Why would the friendly bear beside her be different? "Oh? What favor would that be?" she asked cautiously.

"I won't call you 'Enchanter' or 'Commander' if you won't call me 'Teyrn' or 'Your Grace'."

Letting out a sigh of relief, Joss nodded. "Fair enough. I'm Joss to my friends," she agreed.

"I'm Fergus to mine, but never Fergie, despite Elissa's assertions to the contrary."

Joss's grin became a chuckle. "I don't actually think I could call you that without laughing, so you have nothing to worry about."

"Good. The last person other than Elissa to call me 'Fergie' wound up with a sword in his chest."

Instinctively, Joss's hands came up to pat her chest. "That probably wouldn't be a good thing for either of us."

Another boyish grin settled on Fergus's face. "Yes, I've heard tales of your prowess with certain spells."

Joss shrugged, feeling both pleased and embarrassed. "Ah, that and my people skills make me the obvious candidate for Ferelden Citizen of the Year. Erm – supposing there is such a thing, of course."

Fergus laughed and agreed, his brown eyes alight with mirth. She wasn't quite sure how to take that. Sure, it had been amusing, but he was finding it insultingly funny.

Naturally, because tact had never been her strong suit, she blurted out, "Just what are you and Elissa planning? I mean, you're both welcome to travel with us, but it does seem odd for you to be hanging around with us. Aside from Teagan, we are mere riffraff."

Before Fergus could comment, Styx barked several times, bumping his head against Joss's leg, his displeasure radiating off him like heat from a campfire. "And Styxandstones, the fiercest, most noble hound in all of doggie-dom," she added, patting the mabari's head.

"You mean, what's a nice noble like me doing in a place like this?"

"Exactly."

"Teagan trusts you, and that's enough for me."

Which didn't answer her question. At. All. She opened her mouth to say just that when Alistair yelled, "Bandits!"

Joss felt almost sorry for the bandits, who were so easily and quickly defeated that nobody had time to work up a sweat. She did, however, work up an appetite. After moving a fair distance away from the dead bandits, who had been thoughtfully dragged off the road and laid to rest face down in an irrigation ditch, she called a halt so they could have their midday meal.

Once they were back on the road, she managed to find herself walking beside Shale, which she usually avoided because all the ground-shaking gave her a headache.

"So, Shale," she began, "let's talk."

"It speaks," Shale intoned in a slightly bored voice. Could rock be bored? If so, most of its life would be pretty humdrum.

"It does and It does so frequently enough it shouldn't come as a surprise to you."

"What Thedas-shattering matter does It wish to discuss?"

"I just wondered what you can remember beyond your time in Honnleath?"

"Does It not remember my previous answer?"

"I remember your previous avoidance of my answer. Not the same thing."

"It _is_ clever, isn't It? Very well, I will answer Its question if It promises to go away and stop wagging Its little pink tongue after I am done."

"Sure, no tongue wagging; got it."

"My former master enjoyed entering the Deep Roads and raiding old thaigs, the ghoul. He brought me along with the promise of showing me where I was created, but, like all Its kind, he lied. Hardly surprising from a man who allowed his wife to take a chisel to me."

Ouch, Joss thought, almost feeling sorry for the pile of rock, that couldn't have felt good. Or maybe it had only wounded the golem's pride because, so far, Shale had seemed impervious to pain. Not that Joss had the nerve to ask Shale if the chisel had been painful. There were some things better left unasked.

"What can you tell me about the Deep Roads?"

"Why? Does It wish to raid the old thaigs, as well?" Shale asked with a fair amount of contempt in its voice.

"No, I was just curious because I'll probably never see them."

"I suggest It reads a book on the subject," Shale said snidely.

"Sure, I'll do that, because obviously there's no shortage of books lying around."

"Perhaps It should go look for some. Elsewhere."

"There will come a day, oh great Rock Heap, that you'll thank me for allowing you to join us."

"It does realize It will be waiting a very long time, doesn't It?"

"It does. But It's willing to do so if it means I'll hear you thank me."

With that, Joss slowed her pace and fell into step with Teagan and Zev, who were discussing the merits of brandy, Antivan brandy specifically. She was content to listen, having been far more sociable than she was used to and deciding she'd talked enough for one day. Possibly even two.

A short time later they came upon a dwarf merchant who called himself Old Tegrin. He was a suspicious little man, who was happy to show off his wares once he noticed how affluent the group appeared to be. He introduced the bluish-grey ox that pulled his cart as 'Babe' which, of course, it wasn't. In point of fact, the ox was old and large and ugly.

"Oh, how adorable," their resident Orlesian creampuff cooed, holding up a pair of blue satin shoes.

Well, sure, who wouldn't want to march around the countryside in blue satin shoes with pointy toes and pointy heels? Joss was sure that was the very reason Old Tegrin was out in the middle of absolutely nowhere, plying his wares to the throngs of travelers. Other than the shoes, his goods consisted mostly of dwarven armor, which would have been great had any of the group actually been dwarven to begin with.

As they continued on, taking the occasional wrong turn when Alistair had the map upside down, they encountered Old Tegrin several more times. Joss could not, for the life of her, work out how he managed to get ahead of them without being seen. Or why he wouldn't take her very polite, "No thanks," as the gospel it was meant to be.

After a half-dozen additional encounters the entire group was getting a bit jumpy. Joss fervently hoped they didn't run into him again because she was sick and tired of Leliana cooing over shoes and was tempted to buy a pair of the things just to shut the woman up.

The incident only served to deepen the mystery of how Bodahn always managed to find them each evening. Did dwarves have some preternatural ability that allowed them to find their prey no matter where that prey went? Was that what dwarves meant when they referred to their 'stone sense' or was there some other term they used for their talent of homing in on others?

As it turned out, Joss didn't buy the shoes for Leliana as they didn't come across Old Tegrin and his blue ox, Babe, for the remainder of the day. The sun was sinking behind the mountains when they found the small town of Castle Rock, just in time because Josslyn's feet were screaming at her to sit down and stay off them.

"So, my lovely Warden, you have spent all day speaking with everyone but your favorite assassin," Zev commented as Joss sank gratefully into a chair.

She tilted her head back and closed her eyes. "Did you notice how quiet the day was without Wynne clucking and complaining and nagging every few minutes?"

"She is a woman who is out of her depths," Zev replied, pulling up a chair beside her.

Joss made a noise that was supposed to be a sharp click of teeth and instead came out as a weary sigh. "What depths should she be in?" she asked, imagining the woman as a hen in a henhouse, clucking over all the baby chicks and aggravating the other hens so badly that they refused to lay eggs. Much more appropriate depths.

Teagan came and sat down in a chair beside her, stretching his booted, leather-clad legs out and yawning. "Did anyone actually count the number of times we ran into Old Tegrin?"

"I want to know how he kept magically appearing every hour or so," Jowan muttered, pulling up another chair.

"He's a dwarf. You know very well that they can't actually do magic," Joss corrected, eyes closed and head tilted back.

"Tell that to Leliana. She's convinced the Maker put him there so she could have new shoes," Alistair snorted.

"They _were_ pretty shoes," Elissa sighed.

"Sure, who wouldn't want to fight the Archdemon in pretty shoes? Maybe even a silk gown," Cathair replied.

Fergus, carrying more mugs than was humanly possible for anyone other than a tavern wench, chuckled. "Fine for you women, just don't expect to see me in one."

"I don't know, Fergus, there was that time you came out of your bedroom wearing Oriana's wrapper," his sister teased.

The room went eerily quiet for a moment as everyone felt that odd discomfort that came from mentioning a dead person. Would he laugh? Cry? Pound the table in anger? Joss opened one eye and stared at Fergus, who threw his head back and laughed.

"You pesky brat, nobody here needed to know that."

Finally sitting up and opening her eyes, because drinking ale in a reclining position was dangerous, she glanced around the tavern. Leliana was nowhere to be seen. "Where is Sister Pretty Feet?"

"She went to the chantry to pray for your soul," Teagan answered, hefting his mug and taking a deep pull.

"Hope she prays for both my soles too," Joss murmured.

Leliana returned, looking somewhat less cheery than normal, and they all went into the dining hall together. After a meal of roasted venison, the group gathered in the common room, where Joss quietly told her Wardens to come to her room to discuss Wardeny type things.

What Joss wanted was to take a long, hot bath and crawl into bed for a little alone time with Teagan. She asked the young maid to prepare her bath in an hour because she was not, by the Maker's hairy knees, going to miss the chance to have Teagan wash her back.

When her Wardens were grouped around her, she broke the news of just how Blights, and the Archdemon who commanded them, were ended. The silence was profound after she finished speaking. And then there was a babble of voices that rose as each one of them tried to be heard above the others.

"Silence!" she finally commanded, surprised that the nearby glass vase didn't shatter from the high pitch. "One at a time." Andraste's sagging arse, she was beginning to sound like a commander. She glared at Cathair.

"Why didn't Duncan tell us?" Alistair asked, his voice both petulant and perturbed.

"Maybe he thought we didn't need to know since there were twenty-odd Wardens available to make the killing blow? Maybe he wanted to but he died before he could?"

Alistair shook his head and then ran his fingers through his hair, making it stand up in protest. "I – I can't believe I'm saying this, but he was wrong. We didn't know nearly as much as we should have."

Joss waited for the ground to open up in shock and swallow her. Or the stars to fall from the heavens. She reached out and patted Alistair's cheek. "He really was a good man, but he was a man, as prone to mistakes as any other man."

Alistair shook his head. Hero worship was a hard disease to cure, but she watched Alistair come to terms with the news, and the clay feet of his mentor and father-figure. Maybe, Joss thought, having Teagan take on that role had made it easier for Alistair to come to terms with things.

"So, two souls collide and neither survives. Sounds – you know – not all that fun," he finally said.

"Not fun?" Jowan asked in an impressively high octave. "Not fun is having your boots filled with whipped cream in the middle of the night and then oversleeping and putting them on in a rush. Not fun is having your best friend claim he knows an invisibility spell only to disappear into a pink puff of smoke, never to be seen again!"

Ah, so that's what happened to Alim Surana, Joss thought. There were certain rules of magic that were adhered to, apparently for good reason. One of them was that no spell existed that would teleport a mage from one place to another. Another was that there was no such thing as a spell that made one invisible. It figured that Alim and Jowan would believe otherwise.

There were plenty of charlatans who claimed to know ancient, forbidden magic and they would happily sell a spell to anyone idiotic enough to spend good money on them. The real question was where they'd gotten the money for such a thing, and how had they managed to smuggle a letter out. Not that it mattered, considering how that escape attempt had ended.

"I have an idea on how we can avoid the whole Martyred Warden thing. I want you to go to Jader, Alistair. Take Leliana with you and, when we near the gates of Orzammar, you'll head northwest to Jader. It shouldn't take you more than two days or so to reach it."

"What? You're making me take Sister Crumb-Cakes with me?" Alistair wailed indignantly.

"Unless you speak Orlesian, in which case, I suppose you can take someone else. But if you think I'll send you off on your own, you are sadly mistaken."

"She's a scary lady. Don't you think I should take someone else along, too?"

"Don't tell me the big, bad templar is afraid of an itty bitty crazy person?" Cathair teased.

"I'll send Styx with you, if it will make you happy," Joss offered.

"What about the Couslands? They're nobles; they must speak Orlesian."

Joss frowned. Did all nobles take lessons in foreign languages? Did Teagan speak Orlesian? She really needed to take the time to learn more about her betrothed. The idea of sending Teagan with Alistair wasn't a happy thought. At. All.

"Fine, we'll talk to them, but Leliana is still accompanying you. She lived in Orlais and might finally prove useful. Besides, I think she has a thing for you. I saw her watching your hind quarters this afternoon when you took the lead."

Alistair shuddered and then gulped, before he realized that Joss was laughing and shaking her head. "You are the most gullible person I've ever known," she chuckled.

"I hate you."

"I know, Alistair. It breaks my heart, but I know."

"So I'll go to Jader and get Wardens to come help and what? Volunteer to die, killing the Archdemon? It might be a bit hard to recruit them if they know they're going to die."

"I'm sure there will be a few willing to make the sacrifice and, as I've mentioned to Jowan, just remind them of the wonderful statues and monuments that will be erected in their honor," Joss answered.

Cathair grinned. "In other words, don't leave Jader without at least one Warden. More is better."

Joss slipped an arm around Alistair's shoulders. "I warned you way back before Redcliffe that one of us would have to go looking for more Wardens. Bet you wish you'd assumed leadership now," she teased.

"Hate."

After a few more barbs were thrown, the three Wardens left her alone to await her bath. The thought of sending Alistair off on his own, with only Sister Flibbertigibbet as company didn't make her happy, but she didn't know what, if anything, awaited her in Orzammar and she wanted to be prepared. Maybe sending the Couslands with Alistair was a good idea. Or maybe she just needed to stop thinking for the night.

To her delight, Teagan and the bathwater arrived at the same time. She decided that was a win-win situation and took full advantage of it.


	35. Chapter 35

**A/N:** _Ha! Filler chapter strikes again. Also: this is an early SMUT warning. If you are faint of heart, prone to dizziness or otherwise adversely affected by SMUT, please STOP reading now. Consider yourself duly warned. ;)_

_Thank you, Lisa, for all that you do to enrich this story!_

**All Tied Up**

Fingers, lightly calloused but surprisingly gentle, drifted across her skin in teasing circles. Lips followed, provocative nips awakening her blood. A tickling bristle of beard scraped along the sensitive skin of her belly and, even though she bit her lip to stop it, a moan escaped her.

"Ah, so you _are_ awake, my dear," came an amused and rather smug voice.

"No, I'm having a very naughty dream and I'll thank you not to wake me from it," Joss replied, a sigh escaping as the fingers and lips continued their exploration upward.

"Oh? And what is this naughty dream of yours, pray tell?" Teagan asked, adding his tongue to his lips and fingers.

Joss shivered, her eyes still closed as she felt his tongue swirl around first one, and then the other, pebbled nipple. He took one in his mouth, sucking and nipping at it while pinching the other. She tried to stop the reflexive arch of her hips against his lean, muscled body. It wasn't possible, and when his skin rubbed against hers, she decided she didn't really mind.

"Can you not tell me your dream, Lady Josslyn?" he asked, his voice a husky whisper against her skin. Sure, because thinking was clearly what she wanted to be doing but she complied.

"A noble man has captured me and has me tied to a bed in his castle. I am powerless against him and I tremble as I await my fate."

To her great disappointment she felt him rise, and she opened an eye cautiously to see that he was removing the leather laces of his jerkin. Her heart crashed into her ribcage and then went for a run around her chest. She closed her eyes when she saw him returning. With surprising agility and speed, he had her wrists tied to the iron bars of the headboard.

"He obviously wants to have his way with me, but not before torturing me with his tongue and teeth and fingers."

"The cad! How can he claim to be a noble if he treats so fair a maiden thus?" Teagan whispered against her ear.

She shivered as his tongue traced the delicate shell of her ear and then probed it gently. Another reflexive arch, beyond her control, brushed her body against his. She was damp and swollen, her blood slowing to a languid crawl. A finger brushed lightly against her bud, taunting her with its nearness. She felt it flick across her bud again, before parting her folds and exploring deeper.

"He seeks only mindless pleasure, my lord; he has only the basest desires," she whispered and gasped as soft silk brushed against her eyes, and then she raised her head just enough for him to tie a silk scarf in place.

"What are these base desires you speak of, my lovely lady?" Teagan's voice, brushing like satin across her skin, made her thoughts falter and momentarily hide from her.

She would be content to let him decide what came next, as he seemed to have a fertile imagination. A finger here, a tongue there, had her senses reeling and her desire spinning out of control. She never knew what part of her body would be kissed or nibbled or stroked and she was shaking with need. His tongue circled around a nipple as fingers traced along her inner arm. She moaned.

"I'm sorry, Lady Josslyn, what base desires are those?" he asked again, his voice hinting at his own growing desire.

"He wishes to taste me, to bring me to the very heights of pleasure and leave me there until I beg for mercy."

"Surely you do not mean like this?" Teagan asked, and she shivered as she felt his mouth trail wet kisses from her breasts slowly down her belly to settle on her bud.

Another gasp came from her, despite her attempt to stifle it. "That is exactly what I – oh – oh yes, that's it," she whispered.

His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her hips as he raised her slightly, his tongue flicking and sucking gently, swirling and darting. She flexed her muscles, feeling the softness of his thick hair brushing against her inner thighs as his tongue and mouth teased her nub and probed her, sucking at her juices. Heat and blood and nerve endings pooled together, creating a tight coil in her, flooding through her and lifting her, tightening her muscles as they began to shudder. He pulled back and she nearly screamed in frustration. He blew gently against her overheated skin and then she felt his tongue home in on her bud yet again. Three times he brought her to the brink and three times he stopped just short of pushing her over the edge.

She whimpered as he sat back, leaving her bereft. "Cruel noble to toy with me so," she accused, her voice no more than a honeyed whisper.

The bed shifted as he moved, and she strained against the leather bindings holding her in place. Her nerves were thrumming, crying out for him to send her crashing over the edge of the precipice. Her own fault, yes, but Maker's arse, she was ready to scream in frustration. Not that she would. No doubt Alistair would break the door down to come and save her, humiliating himself in the process.

She was brought back by Teagan's lips, slick with her juices, brushing against hers. She tasted her musk as his tongue plundered her mouth before he withdrew, leaving her lips as hungry for his touch as the rest of her body was. She needed to have a serious talk with herself about allowing herself to be put in such a vulnerable position. Now, however, was not the time for such a discussion. In fact, she was having trouble putting two coherent thoughts together to form any semblance of an intelligent sentence.

"And how does this foul beast who dares call himself a noble bring an end to your suffering?" he whispered, fingers teasing the stiff peaks of her nipples.

"He can't help himself when he sees how much agony he is causing me and he slides his throbbing manhood into me, sating me with his prowess as a lover," she supplied helpfully, her voice little more than breathy gasps.

"Indeed? Like this, fair damsel?" he whispered, his voice husky and tantalizingly near.

He slid into her slowly, so slowly that she was arching into him, desperate for more and, when he was completely sheathed, he wrapped her legs around his waist. She felt his fingers, as light as thistledown, graze against her nub as he slowly withdrew and then impaled her again. The sweet coiling of blood and nerves began anew, tighter and tighter as she arched into him.

"Yes, oh Maker, Teagan," she breathed, over and over, the song falling from her lips as her orgasm unwound every taut muscle, and cooled her over-sensitive nerves in a feverish release that seemed to go on and on as he continued to rock into her.

"This noble," Teagan began breathlessly, as he collapsed beside her, "do you dream of him often?"

Joss, hands still bound and blindfold still in place, snuggled as close to him as her bonds allowed. "That depends," she said drowsily, wondering if she could sneak a nap in before breakfast. Probably not until her body stopped shuddering from her release, she decided.

"And what does it depend on?"

"How often he thinks he can handle it," she murmured, her eyes drifting shut.

"And do you suppose there is a punishment befitting such a monster?" he asked.

Her eyes opened, although she still couldn't see anything. She smiled, thinking of the punishments she could inflict on him. "Crime and punishment go hand in hand, don't they?"

He finally untied the leather laces, helped her ease her arms down and then untied her blindfold. She blinked as the light streaming in through the windows was far brighter than she remembered. He was smiling and looking disgustingly smug.

"What is so amusing, Teagan Guerrin?"

He widened his blue eyes, striving for an innocence of expression that they both knew to be false. "It's just that I am confused, Lady Josslyn. Yesterday you proclaimed a disbelief in the Maker. Yet moments ago, you not only called out to him, but named him."

Joss glared at him, propping herself up on her elbow. "Bollocks. I did neither," she claimed with a toss of her head.

"Ah, but you did, my lovely betrothed," he responded with a smirk. "I ask you to recall what it was you were saying as the noble put you out of your agony. In fact, I shall happily refresh your memory. You said: 'Oh, Maker Teagan.' I rather enjoy the thought of being worshiped by you," he added.

The small jolt of electricity hit him before he even finished his sentence. He yelped and then grabbed her, rolling over until his weight settled on her. She was laughing, breathless and boneless. Damn the Blight and Archdemon for interfering with her desire to spend a week in bed with Teagan exploring which of them handled punishment better.

"Your punishment will come when you least expect it," she promised.

Teagan dropped a light kiss on the tip of her nose before rolling off her and climbing out of bed. She watched his graceful movements as he set about his morning ablutions. He shivered as he plunged his hands into the cold water in the porcelain washbasin. She rose and padded over to him, grinning.

"Don't try this at home," she instructed, casting a spell at the basin. Steam rose from the water she'd just heated.

"That was neatly done," he remarked, splashing his face with the warm water.

"Yes, I'm rather handy to have around, don't you think?"

"Are you?" he asked, amusement dancing in his eyes.

Joss decided to show him just how _handy_ she was. They were, unsurprisingly, late for breakfast. Again. When Alistair asked her what had taken her so long, she smiled brightly.

"Sorry, I was tied up."

Teagan choked on his tea, his laughter hidden by his cough. She glanced over at Zevran who wore a knowing smile as he returned her look. She shrugged, widening her eyes innocently. Alistair shook his head, completely oblivious to the undertones, and went back to shoveling his honey-coated flatcakes into his mouth.

**~~~oOo~~~**

Before leaving the small town of Castle Rock, Joss found a shop that specialized in tents and outdoor gear. She wasn't sure why the name of the shop, _Needful Things_, made her nervous, but it did. Styx growled low in his throat and refused to enter the shop at all, digging his heels in and growling at her. She patted his head and grinned at Teagan, who shrugged.

"I'll go round the others up while you find the tent," he suggested and Styx trotted after him, looking oddly relieved.

Sighing, she pushed the door open and stepped into the dimly-lit shop. She was looking for a tent for Elissa, who had been sharing a tent with her brother. As she didn't actually hate the woman, she thought Elissa might enjoy some privacy.

The owner of the store, Omar, found the perfect tent, tucked away in a dark corner of his store. "I made it myself," he proclaimed proudly, his smile almost blinding.

The entire time she was in the shop, she had the distinct impression that someone was watching her. The hair on the back of her neck rose several times, and the shop was a jumble of odd items and strange noises. She couldn't complete her purchases and leave fast enough.

They set off along the road that would take them to the cut-off for Jader a short time later. It had been decided that Elissa, Alistair and Leliana would travel to Jader. Joss wanted someone else to accompany them because she'd been stupid enough to send two of her mages away. One more mistake on a list that had to be as long as her arm by now. Not having a mage in their group made her nervous. Not having a healing mage made her doubly so.

"Don't worry, Commander. I didn't spend all that time training with the Highever army without picking up a fair amount of knowledge about injuries. If we can bring a few extra poultices and potions with us we should be fine."

Well, wasn't Elissa Cousland just a model of all that was noble and good in Ferelden, Joss thought sourly with a shake of her head. She didn't trust the young woman's intentions towards Alistair, and wasn't at all sure it was a good idea to send them off with only Sister Nonsensical watching over them. Oh, Maker's frozen buttocks! She was acting like an overprotective older sister, worried about Alistair being alone with Elissa. Gah, what had happened to her? She blamed the taint and the Blight. She was getting entirely too attached to him, and to the others, damn it.

Before Joss could castigate herself further, Sister One-Sock-Short-of-a-Pair, dressed in her Chantry robes, came up and placed a gentle hand on Josslyn's arm. Joss eyed the hand warily, and had to fight to keep from throwing it off. There was an air of concern radiating from Sister Sunshine that made Joss dread anything that might come out of the lay sister's mouth. She braced herself, wondering what grim news could be responsible for the knitted brows on the face of Sister Leliana of the Wholly Deranged.

"I am deeply troubled," the Orlesian said. "I don't think I should accompany Alistair."

"Nonsense! You know Orlesian customs, not to mention the language. You most definitely should go with him," Joss asserted firmly, a flutter of panic tickling her stomach. _Besides, I need a break from you._ Oh Andraste's flat chest, she hadn't said that out loud, had she? She glanced around and saw that nobody was staring at her in dismay or outrage. That had to be a good thing.

"I feel that you – I have a duty to - I should stay here and help you find the Maker," Leliana finally managed to say, sounding very unhappy.

Joss wasn't sure if it was fear for her mortal soul or disappointment that Leliana wouldn't be going to Orlais. Not that it mattered. Josslyn's lips twitched. Her laughter was a mere breath away, but, to her credit, she held it at bay.

"This omnipotent, omniscient, divine deity got _lost_? You'd think someone who supposedly created the world would be able to find his way around it easily enough, wouldn't you?"

She dared not look at Teagan, choosing to study the ground instead because she was having a great deal of trouble controlling her laughter. She tried to imagine dark or sad thoughts, but the laughter percolated in her blood, scratching at her throat. She would not, could not, look at Teagan or she would collapse into a heap of giggles, and that was not a good look for her. She had outgrown giggling when she was thirteen. She wasn't about to succumb now.

"Perhaps if you tied the Maker up, he'd be less prone to getting lost?" Joss offered and she heard Teagan's chuckle, quickly stifled by him as he cleared his throat.

"What do you mean? Bind yourself to the Maker's will?" Sister Frothy Spirits asked in confusion.

Josslyn snorted, and the inside of her cheek was becoming raw where her teeth were biting it. She was unable to open her mouth, for fear of setting the laughter free, but she lost it when Teagan, his voice full of kindness and a hint of innuendo, spoke up.

"You needn't concern yourself, Leliana. Joss and I discussed this very matter earlier, and I can assure you that she has found the Maker."

She had to stop walking when her suppressed laughter became a coughing fit that nearly choked her. The Sister of Sainted Fluffiness pounded on Josslyn's back, and everyone else looked at her as if she'd gone as loony as Leliana. When she finally had herself under control, she shot a cool blast of air at Teagan, who shivered but didn't lose the amused smile that sat with such cockiness on his lips.

"Then I am relieved, and will be happy to go with Alistair."

Joss nodded her head violently, still wrangling up stray laughter as she watched Leliana hurry to walk beside Alistair.

Zevran approached her a little later, taking her hand and placing it on his arm. He pushed her sleeve back and then glanced at her with a sly smile. "So, my dear Warden, you must explain to me how your wrists came to be chafed, yes?"

"No."

"Tsk, tsk, dear lady, it is not good to keep such secrets to yourself."

"Zevran, a lady doesn't kiss and tell." _Oh please! A lady? Really?_

"Truly, my dear, you would withhold this from your favorite assassin?"

"Truly, my dear assassin, I would."

Zevran pouted at her and then spoke so softly that she had to tilt her head in his direction to hear it. "It's good to see you this way, _mi Tesoro_."

"What way?" she asked, trying not to sound suspicious and failing miserably.

With a laugh, Zev pulled her closer against his side. "Happy, relaxed. You have the look of a woman in love and that is as it should be."

"Oh sure, because the chances of anything coming of it are so good," Joss retorted, but her smile belied her words. She was an utter fool to believe in a happy ending with Teagan. Happy endings were not for mages. Or, apparently, Grey Wardens. Still, she was determined to enjoy it while it lasted. With her penchant for disastrous relationships, it wouldn't last all that much longer anyway.

"Ah, you say that, my lovely Warden, but your eyes belie your words. It is all right to believe in a future."

"I believe that just as much as you do, my Antivan stallion. When you forgive yourself for whatever it is that you carry inside you, I'll be happy to listen to your advice."

"Well, you have me there. Perhaps sometime when you are not tied up?" he suggested with a leering smile.

"Shall I hold my breath?"

"I think not, my lovely Warden."

She bumped shoulders with him and they continued on in companionable silence until they reached the road that led to Jader.

"Now, Alistair, stay dry and don't try to go too far in one day."

Alistair blushed, shaking his head. "Do you hear yourself? Are you going to tell me to change my socks every day, too?" he asked in embarrassment.

"Will it do me any good? I've seen your socks and they can usually march on their own, they're so dirty."

"Humiliation complete," he muttered, shuffling his feet.

"Nonsense, I've just begun," Joss teased. "Impress upon the Wardens that they are brothers and sisters, not second cousins, and they need to get their tainted arses here and help us."

"Riiiight. I'll be sure to phrase it just that way."

Laughing, Joss barely resisted the impulse to ruffle his hair. "Be safe, Alistair. I expect to see you in Orzammar in a week or so."

"You be safe too, Joss. No telling what's waiting for you in Orzammar."

"Clean beds and good ale, I'm hoping."

She stood, watching the three adventurers disappear around a bend in the road. Fergus stood beside her. "She's very good in a fight, and quick thinking. They'll be fine."

Joss raised a brow at that proclamation but didn't say anything. Fergus grinned at her.

"You're a suspicious person, you do know that, right?"

"Perhaps if you told me why you two are traveling with us, other than the twaddle about hiding from Howe, I'd be less suspicious."

"I'm sorry, Josslyn, I'd like to, but I promised Elissa and Alistair I wouldn't say anything until we arrive back at Redcliffe. My hands are tied."

"Yes, there seems to be a lot of that going around," she replied dryly.

They started walking and she stopped, looking up at the tall man with the lively brown eyes and ready smile. "Why didn't you go with them?"

He shook his head. "Suspicious," he remarked with a grin. "Teagan, are you aware of your betrothed's deeply suspicious nature?"

"Why no, I've not noticed it," Teagan replied with a diplomatic smile. "My dear, are you really of a suspicious nature?"

Without batting an eyelash, Joss smiled, sending another cold blast in Teagan's direction.

"Not at all, Bann Teagan," she replied sweetly. He shivered and gave her a wounded look, but ruined the effect by winking at her.

"Now, please, Fergus, why didn't you travel with them to Orlais?" she prodded.

"I've met with King Endrin Aeducan on several occasions. My father had trade agreements with him at one time. I'm hopeful that my presence will help smooth the treaty negotiations so that we may reach Redcliffe sooner than we'd planned to."

"That would be a refreshing change," Joss replied dryly, remembering the problems she'd encountered enforcing the treaty with both the Dalish and her own Circle. But not bloody likely, she added to herself.

They stopped at dusk, setting up camp near a mountain stream. Bodahn and Sandal arrived just after the tents were staked and the fire lit. She had to wonder at their timing. Just once it would be nice if they actually arrived in time to help set up camp. Sandal waved to her as they rode by in their rickety cart, his eyes as big as dinner plates.

"Oooh, Enchantment," he offered by way of greeting.

"Yes, Sandal. Enchantment!" Joss agreed, giving him a grin.

"Does he ever say anything else?" Fergus asked.

"Well, he likes the froggies," she replied with a chuckle, remembering Sandal's appreciation for Wynne-Toad.

Naturally, he couldn't let that go, and it was Jowan who recounted the tale of Wynne's toadification. Afterwards, Fergus turned to her, looking pensive. "So, can you do this toadifying thing to anyone?"

"Why, are you feeling a bit green?" she asked.

An emphatic shake of his shaggy head nearly sent him tipping over. "No, no. It just seems like a very handy ability. I have to say that the idea of turning Howe into a toad for awhile before I tie him to a rack is quite appealing."

"I can arrange that if and when we finally catch up to him."

"I'd like that. How may I return the favor?"

Joss rolled her eyes at his gallant question and then her eyes focused on the tent behind him, where two leather straps held his tent flap closed. "You can let me borrow those straps for the night," she said, as casually as she could. Her eyes flickered to Teagan, who was sitting across the fire from her. Fergus followed her eyes and then grinned at her.

"He's a lucky bastard," he commented, turning to his tent and removing the straps.

"Who's a lucky bastard?" Jowan asked, looking at the straps in Josslyn's hands and turning a pasty white.

"You aren't going to punish me for fraternizing, are you?" he whispered, leaning close so only she could hear his question.

"Don't be an idiot, Jowan. Fraternize to your heart's content. Quietly," she added sternly.

"Now, if you'll all excuse me, I believe I'll turn in," she said as nonchalantly as she could.

"I'll be right back," Teagan announced to the group sitting around the campfire, and came to escort her the twenty steps to their tent. She chuckled at that and then leaned up and whispered something in his ear.

"On second thought, I'm feeling rather tired myself. Good night everyone," Teagan said in a rush.

It was Teagan who found the Maker that night.


	36. Chapter 36

**A/N:** _This is a chapter from multiple PoVs as our intrepid adventurers make their way to their various destinations.  
Thank you, Lisa, as always, for your eagle-eye and sharp wit. Your suggestions were spot on. _

**Happy Trails to You **

As soon as the boat docked, Randal turned to the two ladies - and he used that term advisedly – and instructed, "Go to the castle. Go directly to the castle. Do not stop until you are in the castle. I will be there directly."

Neither woman looked impressed by his instructions, delivered in his most commanding voice, but at least they didn't argue, which had to be a first. The entire trip had been one long bitch-fest with Wynne complaining that Morrigan's clothing was too revealing, and Morrigan complaining that Wynne's mouth was so busy working that the old woman had no time to engage her brain. Randal had spent most of his time on the foredeck, dutifully watching them, smite at the ready. He had not slept, had barely eaten and his good humor was in short supply. Or possibly gone altogether.

Leaping to the wooden pier, he walked up the small incline to the village of Redcliffe, surprised to see how much work had already been done to set the village to rights after the demon infestation. He nodded to several friends, who stood, with mouths agape, as he strode by them, his armor glittering like diamonds in the sun.

His father was overseeing the repairs, standing in the middle of the town square, shouting orders in his gravelly voice. "Da," Randal muttered in greeting, striding past the man who was not only his father, but also the town's mayor.

"Randal!" his father greeted.

"Not now, Da. I'll come by for a visit in a bit."

Continuing through the square, he climbed the hill, not bothering to turn and see if the two women were obeying his orders. He knew they were because Wynne couldn't wait to cozy up to the arl, and Morrigan was too suspicious of the older woman not to follow her. Still, he felt he had gone above and beyond the call of duty in escorting them back to Redcliffe. He felt he should have a statue erected in his honor.

Entering the tavern, his eyes scanned the small room, searching for a fiery, red-haired woman. She had her back to him, intent on her task of clearing a table. He spun her around and swept her into his arms, pulling her tight.

"Randy?" she breathed in surprise.

"Damn right I'm randy," he replied before his mouth became too busy to talk.

She pressed herself even closer, and he didn't mind a bit. The only thing he did mind was his damned armor getting in the way. He broke away long enough to tell that sniveling lardarse, Lloyd, to shut up about molesting his workers, before he shut the man's mouth permanently. Lloyd shut up.

"My, you certainly have grown," Bella murmured when their lips finally gave out.

"Grown and hardened, Bella," he answered, faintly shocked at how lewd his words sounded. He blamed the assassin's lascivious ways, or rather, he thought he ought to thank Zevran for the unintended lessons, and swept her off her feet, heading upstairs to show her just how grown and hardened he was.

Later, he gave her a small pouch of coins, and told her to stop working at the tavern, and stay in his old place since it was vacant. He was strapping into his armor and feeling pretty damned good, thank you very much, when she finally sat up and started reaching for her own clothes.

"Look at you, all cocksure," she said around a saucy grin.

Well, he wasn't going to complain about her choice of words. "Wait for me, Bella. When the Blight is over, we have some traveling to do."

Bella's eyes lit up, and he felt like crowing and thumping his chest. Yes, a thank-you note was definitely in order. Maybe one for Joss, too. She may not be the best leader he'd ever served under, but, by the Maker, she was the most educational.

He stopped at the bar on his way out, and leaned across it to grab a fistful of Lloyd's grimy, yellowed shirt. "If you ever lay another finger on Bella or the other serving girls, you will be talking out of a different orifice. Do I make myself clear?"

Lloyd blustered and blundered and then collapsed like a burning barn. "You can't come in here and tell me what to do," the man whined.

"Can. Did. Deal with it."

Maker, it was like he'd been given a dose of iron for his backbone. He was grinning as he made his way up to the castle, where his grin met an inglorious death at the hands of a shrieking arlessa. It took him a few minutes before he realized she was shrieking in relief because the ashes were working. By then his ears were bleeding, and he was in serious need of a stiff drink.

Mission accomplished, he went in search of that stiff drink. Unfortunately, Wynne seemed to think he didn't need it.

"You need to explain Bann Teagan's absence," she said in the voice that made Randal long to be anywhere else. Fighting a high dragon was more fun than listening to her when she had that prim, disapproving tone in her voice.

"I need to? You woke him up, you talk to him," Randal insisted, reaching once again for the glass of whiskey.

"You're the Warden."

"And you're the bloody busybody. You know as much about Teagan's reason for staying with the others as I do. More, probably, given your penchant for meddling."

Wynne's face paled, and for the blink of an eye, Randal felt remorse, but it happily went away. "I suppose, if you haven't got the stomach for it, I'll tell him. In fact, there's several things he should know, especially since you'll be staying here."

If a pale face could further pale, Wynne's did. Randal gulped his whiskey, shivered and stood. "In fact, you're right, Wynne. I should be the one to tell Arl Eamon _everything_."

"No, that's not necessary, Randal. I can manage."

Too late, old biddy, Randal thought with rising glee, too bloody late. He went in find the arl. With him was another mage, who looked as happy as a mouse caught in one of Owen's steel bear traps. Arlessa Isolde was finally settling down, her screech no longer shattering the crystal vases in the castle. Wynne stood beside the bed, arms folded and rocking on her heels. He was tempted to smite her, on principle, but, instead turned to the male mage.

"You Niall?"

The man nodded. "I have a message for you from Joss. She says, and I quote: You lucky bastard. Stay here and continue helping Connor. Keep an eye out for a disturbance in the force, and let Randal know if one should occur. Also, help Randal do whatever needs to be done in preparing troops. I'll see you in your dreams."

The man grinned, erasing the faintly scared, morose expression. Randal didn't have the heart to tell him he'd made up the whole 'helping with the troops' thing. He figured by the time Joss learned about it, she'd be too busy dealing with the arl to toadify him.

"Now, about the Blight, Your Grace," he continued, turning to look at the arl, who was as grey as his scruffy beard.

Whoever had said a person couldn't go home again didn't know what they were talking about. Randal was having the time of his life. In fact, it was the best day he'd had in some time. He didn't even mind when Wynne shooed them all out of the arl's room, claiming that the man needed rest. An odd thing to need after sleeping for weeks on end, but Randal was happy to comply.

He strolled out of the room right into Morrigan. She gave him one of her infamously haughty and disdainful stares. She looked down her nose at him, her golden eyes frigid, which seemed a fairly impressive task, given the warm color of her eyes.

"I will be returning to Josslyn tomorrow morning," she announced coolly.

Yes, Randal reflected with a large grin, his day was just getting better and better.

**~~~oOo~~~**

Alistair was searching for his tongue. It had obviously fallen out of his mouth as they walked along the winding trail to the Orlesian border. In fact, the only one doing any talking at all was Sister Flaky Pastry, and he wasn't even sure if she realized she was actually talking out loud.

"Josslyn's soul is in danger. I must find a way to help her into the light of the Maker's words. Help me, oh Maker," the woman kept mumbling.

Alistair rolled his eyes. He believed in the Maker well enough, but he'd never had the devout feelings a templar was supposed to have. While he couldn't claim to be as irreverent as Joss, he wasn't so enraptured with the Chant of Light that he felt compelled to save everyone around him who didn't believe.

Elissa was walking in front of him and he hated the way his eyes kept focusing on the sway of her hips, because he knew it was wrong, and that if she caught him, she'd probably serve him up on a skewer for dinner. Every time he commanded his eyes to look elsewhere, as in _any_ elsewhere, they returned resolutely to her hind quarters.

He still didn't quite believe in his good fortune. That Elissa Cousland actually liked him was more of a dream than an actual belief. He reminded himself that she probably just saw him as a tool…his mind stuttered to a halt at the image that wrought.

"No, no, no," he muttered, and then ploughed into Elissa when she stopped.

"No? I'm sure this is the way," Elissa said with a frown.

Maker, why couldn't the earth just open up when a fellow needed it to? He felt the embarrassment surging into his cheeks. "Oh, right you are," he finally mumbled, eyes studying the ground for any sign of it opening up. Damn his luck, anyway.

"You _can _disagree with me, you know," she teased.

"And I will, really, if the need presents itself; otherwise, I'll just be over here, standing around, looking incredibly inept," he finished, his voice dying away. It was good to know that he didn't need Joss around to humiliate him. Maker knew he was not inept in that area.

As they continued on, he wracked his brain for some way to let her know that he really liked her, as in really, _really _liked her. And then he remembered the rose he'd picked in Lothering. He'd tucked it into a small wooden box at the time, not entirely sure why he'd picked it, but glad now that he had. He would present it to her at camp that night, hopefully when Sister Creampuff wasn't around. With that thought in mind, he continued on, anxious for the evening.

They stopped to make camp just as the sun was slinking off over a hill. He was grateful to have busy work because he was thinking the whole rose presentation to death. He already knew, no matter what pretty speech he might rehearse, when the time came to actually give her the rose, and say something, he would fumble it so badly that she wouldn't know what his intent had been anyway.

His chance came when Leliana went down to the stream to clean their dinner dishes. He climbed into his tent and began emptying his pack, searching for the box, and when he found it, he backed out of his tent on his hands and knees. And nearly knocked Elissa over, his rump hitting her in the shins. Nothing humiliating about that. Oh no, not in the least. Hello? Ground? Opening time. Now. Now would be great.

"Alistair, is something wrong?" Elissa asked him and her voice was dripping with enough laughter that even he could recognize it.

"Just making sure everything is tidy," he mumbled, hoping she couldn't actually see inside his tent to the jumble of belongings he'd left in the middle of his bedroll.

He stood and smiled, shyly holding the box out to her. "Here, do you know what this is?"

Pudding head. He was a complete pudding head. He glared at the ground, silently demanding it open up. It ignored him.

"I believe that's a wooden memento box. Is it made from cherry wood?"

Alistair stared at the box. Was it? He couldn't actually remember where he'd gotten the memento box, now that he thought about it. He scratched his head with his other hand and continued holding the box out for her to take, giving it a shake.

"It's what's inside that counts," he heard himself say. Lightning? Maybe if the ground didn't open up for him, the Maker would see fit to hit him with a bolt of lightning?

"Yes, my mother used to say the very same thing. Oh, and good things come in small packages," Elissa added as an afterthought.

"Right, they do. Not that I have a small package or…oh, Maker. Here, I found this in Lothering and it reminds me of you," he blathered on, removing the lid and showing her…a dead and desiccated rose.

A boulder. A boulder falling out of the sky and landing on him would be nice. Maker's breath, didn't he merit at least that much help from the Maker? Wasn't he deserving of some small mercy? A handful of rocks would do. Anything. The Maker ignored his fervent desire for death by natural disaster. Or unnatural, come to think of it.

To his utter amazement, Elissa didn't laugh. She took the box and said, "Oh, Alistair, thank you! Potpourri. It will help with that awful smell at the bottom of my pack."

She leaned up, kissed his cheek and stood back, staring up at him with her cornflower blue eyes. There was something there, some question or comment, which, though, he wasn't sure. He stood, fingers fumbling with each other nervously as he tried to think of something coherent to say.

"Maker's breath, Alistair, kiss the woman," Sister Marzipan sighed in a dreaming voice.

It was probably the only time he'd ever listen to the loopy sister. He hovered over Elissa and then, with a shrug, he pressed his lips to hers and felt the ground shake. It figured that he'd finally found enough courage to kiss the woman of his dreams only to have the ground finally listen to him and swallow him whole.

As it turned out, it was merely his knees shaking and not the ground. He was profoundly thankful as Elissa didn't seem to want to release his lips.

~~~oOo~~~

"He'll be fine," Teagan said, disgustingly reassuring. "Don't worry."

Joss opened her eyes wide and feigned innocence as she asked, "What, me worry?"

"Yes, you worry. There is no need for it, my dear."

Joss raised an eyebrow in his direction, but said nothing. Of course Alistair would be fine. That was not, however, about to stop her from worrying about him. She continued walking, but kept throwing glances behind her, not sure what she was looking for, but her mind wasn't exactly in its right mind at the moment.

"You said yourself he was ready for a leadership role, Joss. He'll be fine," Teagan reiterated.

"So you keep saying."

"Because it's true."

"You do know that the basis of optimism is sheer terror, right?" she asked with a 'humph' and then stopped in her tracks. "Andraste's martyred arse! Just slay me, slay me now."

Teagan stopped beside her, his brows knit in a frown. "What?"

"Slay me. You know, take your dagger out and play stabbity stab with it. Preferably in my brain so it's over quickly."

He stared at her, wearing that 'Oh Maker, she's going round the bend again' expression that always made her want to laugh. Except this time, when she felt too depressed to laugh. "Why would I want to slay you?"

"I sounded just like Wynne. Just like that harridan, Wynne. Of all the things I ever thought would happen in my life, sounding like her wasn't even in the top one-hundred. So promise me that you'll kill me should I ever sound like her again," Joss implored earnestly. And she meant it, with her whole heart. Better dead than Wynne-i-fied.

She felt utterly dejected, demoralized and despondent, but Teagan was chuckling, his arm sliding around her waist as he urged her onward.

"You sound nothing like Wynne, my dear."

"The handsome bann is right, my lovely Warden, but, should you ever, I will slay you without hesitation," Zevran agreed, coming to walk at her other side.

Feeling only slightly less dejected, she thanked her assassin. At least he understood the importance of her being earnest. And, while she didn't relish the idea of being slain, she relished sounding like Wynne even less.

As they neared the gates to the dwarven city, they decided to stop early and prepare for their arrival in the hallowed halls of Orzammar. Joss had no desire to arrive for an audience with the king of dwarves drenched in sweat and bemoaning the fate of her poor feet. Not that she knew for certain that they would actually meet the king. What had Fergus called him? Iduken? Maybe he'd meant that the king was originally a duke? She frowned.

"Fergus, tell me about King Iduken."

"Endrin Aeducan is the King of Orzammar. His ancestor was made a paragon and his family has ruled Orzammar for generations. He's a bit old-fashioned, but a reasonable man."

"His ancestor was made a pair of what?" Joss asked, thinking that being made a pair of anything didn't sound all that healthy.

"A paragon. The dwarves don't worship the Maker, they worship their ancestors."

Joss thought that made sense. Better to worship someone you actually knew rather than a mystery man. "Do you suppose he'll just hand over his troops?" she asked hopefully.

Fergus laughed as if she'd just made a terribly funny joke. That was not reassuring. At. All. In fact, she was beginning to feel a knot of worry forming. Right beside the lump of worry about Alistair.

"I think you'll have to make it worth his time to do so. Dwarves are a canny lot and they rarely do anything without getting something in return."

"I can't imagine what I'd have to bargain with, so let's hope he wakes up in a charitable mood tomorrow."

As she lay in her tent a short time later, trying to sleep, she wished she hadn't agreed not to visit Alistair in the Fade. He'd been concerned that his dreams might cause her embarrassment. As if that was even possible. She knew the real concern was that _he _would be embarrassed. She tossed and turned and finally got up, leaving a gently snoring Teagan to keep her place warm for her.

"Ah, my lovely Warden, you couldn't sleep?" Zev asked, glancing over his shoulder at her. He was sitting close to the fire.

"Polishing your sword?"

"Of course. Would you care to offer your assistance?" the elf asked, a wolfish grin curling his lips upward.

"I'd hate to take away your pleasure in stroking your own blade," she replied, coming to sit beside him.

"In Antiva we have a saying that many hands make light work."

Joss chuckled softly. "And in Ferelden we have a saying that too many cooks spoil the lamb stew."

"That explains your strange culinary habits," he replied. "And your curiously provincial views on love-making. Present company excluded, of course."

"And you eat fish chowder, so I think we are even all the way around," she retorted.

"Ah, now you are making me wistful for Antiva."

"Are we going to talk about your predilection for leather again?"

"My dear, one should not cast stones when one lives in a thin tent."

Joss shook her head, opening her eyes wide in feigned innocence. "I don't know what you mean."

"Truly? I would be most happy to explain what I mean, but I suspect you are more versed in the subject of leather than I."

"I can't imagine that, somehow."

"Now tell me, _mi Tesoro_, why you aren't sleeping with your handsome bann?"

Joss leaned her head on his shoulder and yawned. "I'm not sure. I wasn't a bit sleepy but now I can't stay awake."

"Ouch. Such wounds you inflict on me."

She tipped her head up and kissed his cheek. "All better?" she asked.

"But of course, my lovely Warden."

Joss dragged herself up and crawled back into her tent, curling up against Teagan, who let out a yelp of surprise as her cold feet touched his legs. He pulled her close and she burrowed into him, drifting off to sleep.

Naturally, King Aeducan had decided to die before they arrived. Joss muttered, just loud enough to be heard by her companions, "Oh, my. Another king is dead. What are the odds?"

Of course, getting past the guards, and the enormous bronzed gates into the city, proved a challenge.

For one thing, there were a group of men, sent by Ferelden's regent, who were demanding entrance. When Joss approached, she sent a bolt of lightning into the man, Imrek, who, besides giving the Orzammar guard such a difficult time, also appeared to be the leader of the pack. He was not happy with her, but he took one look at Shale and fell silent.

"Loghain will hear of this outrage," he proclaimed, all blustery bravado, once he'd found his voice again.

"Well, if you can actually run with your tail between your legs, give him a message for me. In fact, hold on a minute."

She turned to Zevran and smiled brightly. "Hand me your dagger, Zev," she instructed.

Teagan looked as though he wanted to protest and Jowan was staring at her, mouth agape. "Just use magic," her fellow mage urged.

Instead, she unwound her untidy chignon and cut off a long strand of it. Everyone was now watching her as if she'd grown that long wished for third eye in the middle of her forehead, but she gave them all an even brighter smile. Then, turning to Imrek, who looked as nervous as a mage on his way to his harrowing, she handed him the strands of hair.

He took them, fixing his blank stare on the hair. "Is this a warning? You'll cut his throat like you cut your hair?" he asked, his voice quaking.

Joss laughed, shaking her head. "Don't be ridiculous. I want you to tell him two things. Do you think you can remember them?" she asked him in a kind voice.

He blinked and stared at her, and she rather thought he might have an embarrassing accident as he looked terrified. He didn't speak, just nodded his head up and down a number of times.

"Now, look at me, Imrek, and do not look so frightened. This is very important. Are you listening?" she asked, studying him. When he nodded, she continued, "Do you think I look intelligent?"

His mouth, so recently closed, fell open again. She handed the dagger back to Zev and waited for Loghain's man to answer. Obviously, _he_ wasn't too intelligent because he waited so long she shot another bolt of lightning into him. He jerked and spasmed and then nodded vigorously. Or perhaps, Joss thought with a grin, that was just the after-effects of the electricity.

"Yes! Yes, you look very intelligent."

"Wonderful. And what color would you say this hank of hair is?" she asked in a silky smooth voice.

"Dark brown, with just a hint of red overtones. No, not red. I'd say golden copper overtones?" he asked hopefully, stumbling over his words like a drunken sailor.

"Oh, well done, Imrek. We call this color 'auburn'. Do you think you can remember that name?" she asked encouragingly. His head bobbed several times. "Excellent. Now, when you see Loghain, tell him both those things for me, would you? That you met an intelligent-looking, _auburn-_haired woman who is coming after his arse, and, if he didn't like the last bolt I sent his way, he's going to positively _abhor_ the next one," she replied with a sweet voice.

His slack-jawed gape gave way to a puzzled frown. "Hurry along, Imrek. You don't want to make me angry, you won't like me when I'm angry," she added and waved her hand. He flinched, nodded once, and then tucked the hair into his pack, before scurrying away like a frightened chipmunk.

"You used magic on Loghain Mac Tir?" Fergus asked, awestruck.

"Yes, and the old sourpuss has been sending assassins after me ever since."

Fergus laughed. "You honestly think that's why he's sending assassins and bounty hunters after you?"

Joss batted her eyelashes at him. "Why, of course. It can't possibly be because I know exactly what went on at Ostagar, or that I'm a wily, wily mage spy for Orlais in his mind."

Turning to the diminutive guards, she shrugged. "Now, about this whole dead king thing…"

The gates swung open without further ado.


	37. Chapter 37

**A/N: **_Thank you, as always, Lisa, for your help and mad beta skillz! Your suggestions were, as always, spot on!_

**The Great Underground Empire**

For a nation of short people, the dwarves had surprisingly high ceilings. Joss supposed that had more to do with the fact that they lived under a mountain than anything else, but it seemed wrong, somehow, to not have to hunch over to walk into the kingdom of the dwarves. Instead, the ceiling wasn't even visible, and _she_ felt dwarfed by the huge chamber they entered.

The first large chamber they came to was an oddly-angled room filled with the most unattractive statuary she'd ever seen. Not that she'd seen many statues, but a child could have done a better job of creating clay figures of heroic dwarves than whoever had designed the squat, angular depictions that greeted them in the Hall of Heroes.

"This is a paragon," Fergus announced, waving at a nearby carving.

"A pair of whats?" Joss asked, bending forward to read the nameplate. _Branka_. She wasn't sure if that was a name or the sound a donkey made. The woman, and she used the term advisedly, represented in the statue was as flat as a floor and her hips were as wide as Bodahn's oxcart. Not terribly flattering, unless she'd actually looked that way in real life. As far as she could tell, the woman didn't have a pair of anythings.

"Paragons are dwarves that, through heroic deeds, are elevated to legendary status," Fergus replied.

"And is the sculptor required to drink a keg of ale before creating one of these idols?"

An outraged gasp was her answer, and Joss turned to see a short woman, hands on her Bodahn's-cart-sized hips, glaring at her. So much for diplomacy, Joss thought, swallowing her grin.

"No offense," she added quickly, although she supposed the snicker that colored her words didn't aid her attempt at an apology.

The woman proceeded to lecture Joss about the strength, courage and honor of the dwarves, checking off the names of paragons on her fat little fingers. Then, with a final toss of her head, the woman strode off. Or, rather, strode off as much as was possible given her stumpy legs.

"Well, that could have gone better," Joss remarked to no-one in particular.

"They do seem terribly prickly, don't they? One could say they have _short_ tempers," Zevran commented, coming to stand beside her.

"They do seem to take offense at the least _little_ thing," Joss agreed.

"That's very small-minded of you," Teagan said and then groaned. "You've ruined me for polite society, Josslyn," he continued, shaking his head.

"Excellent! My mission is accomplished and I can return to the Tower, now, where meals are always served on time, the beds are soft, and the men aren't."

They were all laughing, except for Styx and Shale. Joss didn't think the golem actually knew how to laugh, and she wasn't sure she'd want to see a laughing rock giant anyway. Styx simply didn't appreciate her sense of humor. Not that many did, now that she thought about it.

They'd been told by the guards that the Assembly was in session, and it was the Assembly who would choose a new king, so off they went in search of the Chamber of the Assembly. Because everyone knew that the Blight was the perfect time to fight about kings, werewolves, demons and other assorted idiots. Joss remained grateful that the Archdemon didn't seem to know his arse from a hole in the ground because neither did most of Thedas.

"Does it occur to anyone else that these Grey Warden treaties aren't worth the paper they're printed on?" Joss asked.

"No doubt they thought they'd never have to use them," Cathair answered.

"I'm firmly convinced the Grey Wardens don't think. At. All," Joss retorted. "Well, except for us, of course," she amended hastily.

Orzammar was huge, and Joss wondered if the vast areas and soaring ceilings had been built as some sort of overcompensation involving dwarven anatomy. If so, they needn't have bothered if the rumors about noses being indicative of the size of a man held any truth.

"My dear, you're staring again," Teagan remonstrated quietly.

Her eyes had developed a mind of their own, staring down at the armor-clad guard's proboscis, staggered by the length and breadth of it. She tried to force her eyes away but they kept returning to the appendage that graced the dark-haired dwarf's face. Slightly bulbous at the tip, she wanted to reach out and tweak it in the worst possible way.

"You're not from around here, are you?" a perky young female dwarf, her voice as lively as a cricket, asked.

Josslyn reluctantly dragged her eyes from the guard's nose and looked down into a set of cheerful blue eyes. "Is it that obvious?" she asked, smiling in response to the girl's effervescent grin.

"Oh, this is so exciting!" the young dwarven girl chirped and bounced in place, oddly reminiscent of Leliana on one of her crazier days. "Do you know anything about the Circle of Magi?"

Why didn't anybody in Thedas recognize that a person wearing robes and carrying a staff was a mage? Joss was about to ask that question when Jowan piped up. "Know it? She practically runs it!"

After Joss had sent a cold blast at Jowan, who grinned with unrepentant glee, she turned back to the young girl. "Now, why would you be interested in the Circle of Magi? Unless I miss my guess, you're a dwarf."

"Dagna! I'm Dagna and I want to study at the Circle. I've sent a bunch of letters to First Enchanter Irving but he never responds! Is he that busy?"

_No, actually, he's dead._ Joss decided not to bother explaining that to Dagna the Deliriously Peppy. "How did you come by the First Enchanter's name?"

"There was a Grey Warden here about a year ago: tall guy with a scruffy black beard, I don't know why humans even try to grow beards, no offense, and he told me who it was, and he said he would deliver my letter, and then I wrote several more, and I'll just die if I don't get accepted for study at the Circle of Magi..."

Joss thought Dagna must have an extraordinary set of lungs to have spoken all of that in one breath. She supposed that wasn't too surprising given the size of her chest. But then all the dwarven women seemed to be well-endowed. Which only made the statues seem all that much odder.

"You want to go to the Circle and study? You're sure that's all? No nefarious plans to steal our magic or perform evil experiments on mages to figure out how their magic works, right?"** Joss asked, only partly in jest. The woman seemed a bit too anxious to go to the Tower to learn about a subject she would never be able to put into practice. Fanaticism was not always a good thing, in her experience.

She waited for someone to chide her with a "People skills!" remark of some kind and then realized those who usually cried out such things were elsewhere.

"What? No! No, I would never do anything to hurt a mage. Honest," the happy dwarf claimed.

"In that case, I'll see what I can do, although things in the Tower are a bit topsy-turvy at the moment." Which was a bit of an understatement. At least Petra would have an extra set of hands to help set things to rights, even if Dagna was a bit too happy for Josslyn's comfort.

"Oh, thank you so much!"

"No problem. I'll get back to you _shortly_," Joss assured, eliciting a snicker from Zev.

It seemed, after that, as if the dwarves came out of the woodwork to ask for help. Or rather, the stonework. A line formed behind Dagna that snaked through the Commons and disappeared into a tavern.

A mother wanted her son found in the Deep Roads. That was a place Joss had no intention of going to visit, lost son or no. The Creep Roads, as she called them, were full of all manner of creepy crawlies, including a sizeable darkspawn horde, if Alistair's information was correct.

Another dwarf, shifty-eyed and as bald as a peeled potato, wanted her to take a package to Godwin in the Tower. He was one grumpy dwarf when she refused, and he immediately attacked her group. The Orzammar guards all became too busy polishing their pikes to assist, not that they needed much help, but it made her wonder why, anytime they ran into trouble, the local constabulary found somewhere else to be.

Someone named Brother Urkel or Terkel or some such wanted her to talk to the Shaperate so he could open a monastery or chapel or something in Orzammar. That went straight to the bottom of her growing list.

Someone else wanted her to look for his missing…

"Nuts? You've lost your nuts?" Joss asked, shuddering. She couldn't imagine that had been a pleasant experience for the dwarf, although he didn't seem to be in pain.

"Maker's breath, Josslyn. The poor merchant lost his _nugs_," Teagan corrected with a stern expression ruined by a covert snicker behind his hand.

"Right, I knew that. Erm…what exactly are nugs?"

"Nasty little creatures that breed like rabbits and taste like chicken," Zevran informed her.

She didn't even want to know why he knew about nugs. Or how he'd come by his knowledge of their mating habits.

"So, with the Great Underground Empire teetering on the brink of collapse because they can't figure out who to name as a king, you're worried about _nugs_?"

"Are you kidding? Harrowmont promises a nug in every pot if he's crowned. That's a lot of nugs," the merchant replied, rubbing his hands together in anticipation of the event.

Before they left the Commons, Joss instructed Cathair, Jowan and Shale to find rooms for the night. Shale was attracting a small crowd of followers who hadn't seen a golem in a nug's age, evidently. They wanted to touch Shale, as if the golem had some mystical abilities or something.

Irritated, Joss snapped, "Shale isn't some pet rock!"

To which Shale remarked dryly, "I suppose that _is_ better than telling them not to stroke the stone, as It commanded earlier."

The more Joss heard about the two contenders for the crown, Harrowmont and Bhelen, the less she liked either of them. That didn't change when they finally made their way to the Assembly, where the Dishers, whoever they were, had gathered to decide the matter.

Her group had no sooner entered the Assembly then a fight erupted and the entire assemblage was tossed out by a very angry steward, who, oddly enough, carried a mage's staff. She wanted to ask about it, but he was too busy complaining about the idiot Dishers.

"Just who are these Dishers you keep babbling on about?" Joss finally interrupted. Maker's tight arse, didn't these people know there was a Blight going on in the real world?

"Deshyrs. The nobles of Orzammar," the steward said with great dignity. Or as great a dignity as one could have when they were short and round and heavily bearded with great honking conks.

"Ah, the noble caste. That explains ever so much about their inability to think beyond their own _little _pec…"

"People skills!" Teagan called out, and then looked horrified that he'd done so.

Joss shook her head. "..adilloes," she continued with a sniff. "What did you think I was going to say?" she asked with a smirk. Teagan shook his head and refused to answer. She would have to make it up to him later. Poor man was looking a bit harried and harassed.

"Until the crown is settled on someone's head, we won't be able to honor the treaty, Warden."

"Well, since you've just called a halt to the proceedings, that isn't going to be any time soon, then. Wonderful," Joss replied, her voice creeping fairly high on the sarcasm scale.

Of course, if they were to choose sides and put a king on the throne, the dwarves would be happy to honor the treaty. On the other hand, the Grey Wardens would be furious for breaking their neutrality clause. And that, Joss thought with a grin, was a win-win situation.

"Sure, because both candidates are charming and well-deserving of the honor. Or, you know, not," Joss stated with a shake of her head that sent her chignon into a nervous breakdown.

The steward shrugged and stared at the door over her left shoulder. She took the hint and left. Moments later they stood in the Diamond Quarter again, which, of course, didn't have a diamond anywhere in sight, discussing their options. Joss's head was aching and she wanted to march back out into the cool air because the air in Orzammar was stale and smelled of unwashed things. Lots of unwashed things. They may bathe regularly, and change their clothes frequently, but dwarves smelled like overcooked cabbage and warm ale. And it wasn't as if she could stand upwind of them, or downwind for that matter, since there was no wind at all in the city of rock.

Apparently, they weren't going to be in and out of Orzammar as quickly as she'd hoped. What a surprise.

Word of their arrival traveled quickly. She suspected the city criers had a lot to do with how fast the news spread. After speaking with the Shaperate, who was more interested in Shale and how she'd come to have a golem in her entourage, than providing useful information, and, after being inundated with yet more requests for help, Joss found herself, along with her group, standing outside a tavern.

They had met with Harrowmont's Second, a wheezy, obsequious little dwarf who had tried to convince them to prove their loyalty to Harrowmont by joining a Proving, which had seemed a bit cowardly to Joss.

"If he wants my support, shouldn't _he_ be doing the proving? You know, to prove he's worthy of that support?" Joss had asked him. It had seemed a reasonable enough question, but it had shut the weasel up and he'd slunk away, much to Josslyn's relief.

Not that Bhelen's Second had been any better. That sleazy dwarf had wanted them to wipe out a crime lord to show their support of the late, lamented King Endrin's son.

"If he wants to make the lot of the dwarves better, as you claim, shouldn't _he_ be the one carting away the Carta?" she'd asked. Sleazy dwarf had stalked away.

"So, my choices are to support a weakling, a tyrant, or depart Orzammar without troops. What if I choose none of the above?"

They entered Tapster's Tavern to discuss the matter, only to be accosted by a dishy Deshyr who waved them over.

"Lord Denek Helmi, at your service," he announced, calling to the waitress for a round of drinks.

Helmi was a veritable fountain of information. He expounded on the antiquated caste system, which certainly explained a great deal about the odd politics of Orzammar, and he went on to explain about the casteless, outcastes, as he called them, who lived in Dust Town; forgotten and ignored.

"Wait, wait, wait," Joss broke in. "Are you telling me that dwarven fertility is at an all time low but the casteless breed like rabbits?"

"Rabbits?" Helmi asked, blinking at her owlishly. "What are rabbits?"

"Erm…bugs? No, no. Teagan, what are those bunny-pig things that taste like chicken?"

"Nugs."

"Yes, those."

"That's exactly what I mean," Helmi said with a grave nod. He tipped his mug at her and Joss felt obliged to do the same. Luckily, she was only drinking water. Teagan and Fergus were downing ale like a pair of thirsty sailors.

"So, you're telling me that the decline in population could be solved by allowing these casteless people to mate with other caste-type dwarves but they aren't allowed to because they don't have a caste? Doesn't that strike you as short-sighted?"

"We've signed our own death warrant," Helmi agreed and then stood, swaying unsteadily.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a disappointed mother waiting at home."

The dwarf ambled out, weaving between the tables, calling out his farewells to the other patrons. "Let's put _him_ on the throne of Orzammar," Joss suggested with a laugh, turning back to her companions.

Teagan and Fergus were both flushed, their eyes crinkled with merriment as they toasted each other yet again. Joss glanced at Zev, who was grinning broadly. "I suppose we should get these men to the inn before they fall on their swords."

"Hold on, Warden. You want to put Helmi on the throne, you're going to need to find a Paragon to do it and I just happen to be married to one."

The slurred voice came from a short man with fiery red hair, a matching beard, and bleary blue eyes. He belched as he grinned at her, and she shuddered as his fetid breath hit her full force.

"So you're married to a Paragon? Not too hard to believe since you're such a suave paragon of studliness yourself," she replied when it became apparent that he wasn't leaving.

The dwarf preened and then swayed towards her, leering. "Hold yourself back, princess. I'm taken," he snorted. He obviously didn't appreciate irony, Joss thought with a silent snicker.

Before she could say more, or question the drunken dwarf, as if that didn't describe half the population of Orzammar, she heard a racket that sounded like two brawling cats.

Snapping her head in the direction of the raucous din, she saw, to her amusement, that Fergus and Teagan had taken center stage and were singing. Teagan flung a careless arm around Fergus's shoulders, nearly knocking the tall man off the stage.

"Maker's roasted nuts!" she exclaimed. "Do something, Zev," she instructed her favorite Antivan.

"My dear, I _am_ doing something. I am preparing to be entertained," he replied, sitting back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest.

Teagan cleared his throat and Fergus did the same before they launched into song. Two brawling cats whose tails were being trampled, Joss amended mentally. She shook her head, laughter welling up.

"_A lusty young smith at his vice stood a-filing.  
His hammer laid by but his forge still aglow.  
When to him a buxom young damsel came smiling,  
And asked if to work in her forge he would go._

_Rum, rum, rum. Rum, rum, rum._  
_In and out. In and out. Ho!_

_"I will," said the smith, and they went off together,_  
_Along to the young damsel's forge they did go._  
_They stripped to go to it, 'twas hot work and hot weather._  
_They kindled a fire and she soon made him blow._

_Her husband, she said, no good work could afford her._  
_His strength and his tools were worn out long ago._  
_The smith said "Well mine are in very good order,_  
_And I am now ready my skill for to show."_

_Red hot grew his iron, as both did desire,_  
_And he was too wise not to strike while 'twas so._  
_Said she, "What I get I get out of the fire,_  
_So prithee, strike home and redouble the blow."_

_Six times did his iron, by vigorous heating,_  
_Grow soft in her forge in a minute or so,_  
_But as often was hardened, still beating and beating,_  
_But the more it was softened, it hardened more slow._

_When the smith rose to go, quoth the dame full of sorrow:_  
_"Oh, what would I give could my husband do so._  
_Good lad with your hammer come hither tomorrow,_  
_But pray could you use it once more ere you go!"***_

Joss found herself clapping as she watched her noble bann performing beside his friend, tears of laughter flowing down her cheeks. Had anyone wagered that they could get Bann Teagan to sing bawdy songs to her, she would have accepted, believing such a thing was impossible.

"You realize, my lovely Warden, that I am now most desirous of your noble?"

"As are a fair number of the patrons, I suspect. Let me assure you that the bann's hammer does not, in fact, recover quite so quickly as his song might suggest."

"Well, shave my back and call me an elf, that pot-bellied son of a whore can sing!" the red-haired dwarf exclaimed, slapping a stubby hand on the table in glee. Yes, a veritable paragon of manliness, Joss thought dryly. Who wouldn't want him by their side in a fight?

Looking quite pleased with himself, Teagan staggered back to their table, Fergus stumbling behind. "Come along, wench, time to demonstrate my smithing skills," Teagan slurred, reaching for her.

Joss was nearly overcome with laughter at his cocky assurance that she would find his hammer in good order. She felt certain that his hammer would not be red-hot or even slightly warm, considering the amount of dwarven ale in his blood. She stood and slipped an arm around his waist.

"Zev, help Fergus before he falls down and hurts himself," she instructed over her shoulder as she guided Teagan among the tables. The patrons were cheering and stomping their feet in approval, Teagan merrily accepting their accolades.

The problem was, she realized as she stood with her swaying noble, she had no idea where the inn was. Luckily, the little warrior who could, followed them out. "There's only one place with the right sized beds, Warden. Wheenken, Bleenken and Nada's," the helpful dwarf said.

"And that would be?"

"Follow ol' Oghren, he'll get you there," the dwarf assured her.

Joss glanced around. She saw no-one else around. "And this ol' Oghren would be you?"

"Well, aren't you smarter than you look," he replied with a gruff laugh.

"Oh, my diminutive friend, you will not be happy with your choice of words," Zevran chuckled just as Joss sent a jolt of electricity into the dwarf.

"Oh, foreplay! I'm in," Ol' Oghren said, rubbing his backside.

Joss was still shuddering when they reached the inn. "Thank you for your help, Oghren."

"Aye, aye. I'll be back in the morning."

"Whatever for?" Joss asked, and then realized how ungracious she sounded. "I mean, that's not really necessary, but thank you," she added at Zevran's amused look.

"You think Paragon Branka is standing around the forge waiting for you? We'll be heading to the Deep Roads."

"Never tell me that your paragon of a wife left you behind for a jaunt in the Deep Roads."

"I'll be back in the morning. Be ready," the dwarf said in a rough voice.

Joss was about to disabuse the dwarf of that notion when Teagan began to sing again. Fergus joined in and they were treated, as was much of the Commons, to another rendition of their bawdy song. She used her strength, limited though it was, to push through the door of the inn. A stout dwarf appeared from a back room, his face grim.

"I'm Wheenken Lowunbrow and I'll thank your men to put a lid on it."

Joss blinked and slapped a grin on her face. "Believe me, if I could find a lid for them, I'd make sure they put it on," she assured him. "Now, if you could just show us to our rooms?"

The dour, dark-browed dwarf nodded at a door, before tossing her several keys, which meant she had to let go of Teagan to catch them. Teagan slumped against a wall, grinning irrepressibly at her with unfocused eyes. She couldn't help but return the grin, although she had no idea why she would grin, considering the cheery news Oghren had shared with her about the Deep Roads.

"Through the door, the first three rooms on the right. Mind your head," Wheenken added and snickered when Fergus stopped singing in favor of howling.

The young teyrn's head and the top of the doorway had apparently had an argument, and the doorframe had won with spectacular results. As it was stone, there was already a rather stunning lump forming on Fergus's head. He was going to have a nasty headache in the morning. But then, he would have anyway, even without conking himself on the head, Joss decided.

Teagan ducked his head with a triumphant shout. He was so limp that she swore he had no bones in his body, just water, which was proving difficult to hold on to. But at least it gave her something else to concentrate on. The thought of having to go into the Deep Roads was not a happy one. At. All.

"Don't take advantage of Fergus," Joss instructed Zevran as they stood outside their rooms.

"You wound me, my lovely Josslyn. The great Zevran Arainai does not _need_ to take advantage in such a cheap manner."

Joss wasn't sure if there was an expensive manner in which to take advantage of people but she kept that thought to herself as she man-handled Teagan into the room and kicked the door shut with her foot.

She was tempted to burn Teagan's clothes off because undressing a limp, singing, man was a lot like wrestling with a lump of lard. Not that she had any practical experience in that. She finally gave up when he pulled her down on top of him.

"I'm experiencing a sensation altogether new to me, and frankly, I love it!" he exclaimed merrily.

"Enjoy it now. I'll wager tomorrow you'll be singing a different song."

Of course, he didn't hear her; he was already busy snoring.

** _Josslyn's comments to Dagna are based on __**mille libri's**__ awesome and brilliant evil!Dagna from her story __**Dangerous to Travel to Known Places**__._

***_A Lusty Young Smith was written by Thomas d'Urfey (1653-1723) in 1698. _


	38. Chapter 38

**A/N**: _Thank you, lisakodysam, for the beta assistance and the wonderful Lumpy love song!_

_Thank you, Enaid, for not only being the 600__th__ reviewer, but also for the inspired 'morning' idea._

_I can't begin to express how thankful I am, and how amazed I am, that this story has exceeded 600 reviews. Thank you to all who are reading and reviewing and lurking!_

**Taint Misbehavin'**

Guessing it was morning, Joss rose and began to pack her gear. She couldn't be sure it was morning because the sun didn't seem able to penetrate the mountain they were inside. How, she wondered yet again, did the dwarves know what time of day it was? Or what the weather was like? Not that she minded being out of the rain, but she wouldn't mind a bit of sunshine.

She had missed the perfect opportunity to fill Teagan in on her plans. At least that way, she could have avoided the fight that would ensue once he heard he was not going into the Deep Roads with her to find a paragon or dance with the darkspawn. She couldn't imagine he would be happy about that. At. All. Telling him while he was several sheets to the wind would have been the sensible thing to do. Which was probably why she hadn't. She and sense rarely traveled the same path. They were, in fact, strangers in the night. Or day. Probably both.

Glancing around their spacious room, she spied a partition, behind which was a miracle. A large stone tub sat on clawed feet. Set into the wall above one end of it were two spigots: one marked with a blue dot and the other with a red dot. They were tempting her, like treats tempted a child, and she reached out, turning them. Water began to flow into the tub; hot and cold running water. Amazing! She could learn to like the strange land of the dwarves, or at least at bath time.

After her bath, she set about making a decoction for Teagan. It was then she heard the noise. Stone walls, much to her surprise, did not block out nearly as much sound as she would have guessed. She wasn't sure whether the muffled noises, consisting mostly of moans, coming through the rock were of Fergus trying to recover from a surfeit of dwarven ale, or if it they were the sounds of a man enjoying a surfeit of Antivan assassin. If it was the latter, it gave a whole new meaning to the morning-after headache.

Stifling her laughter was extremely difficult; trying to do the same with her imagination was impossible. Whatever was going on next door, she decided she wouldn't ask, especially since her hands were full trying to alleviate Teagan's suffering. And, Maker's twisted liver, he was suffering. She smiled, easing a mild spell of rejuvenation into his prostrate form.

He had spent much of the night with one foot planted firmly on the floor, complaining that the bed was shimmying and the room spinning. Had someone complained of those problems in the Tower they would be headless for fear they were possessed by a demon. As it was, the only thing Teagan was possessed of was a screaming hangover, from the sound of it.

He let out a hiss of pain as he opened his eyes, wincing at the bright light, which consisted of a tiny spell wisp and a small fire in the brazier. "Maker's breath," he moaned, covering his eyes with his pillow. "Aren't we supposed to be inside a mountain? Shouldn't it be dark?" he groaned, hugging his pillow.

"How dastardly of the dwarves to force all that ale down your throat and then turn up the lights until they became as brilliant as a hundred burning candles," she agreed, moving back to the brazier and the decoction that would save Teagan's head from exploding.

She added a pinch of winter-spice and a splash of water to the mixture. Lucian Caravel's guaranteed hangover remedy was the last potion he ever taught her and it had saved her many a headache in her time. She finished warming it over the small brazier that apparently gave off entirely too much light for Teagan's poor eyes.

Taking the cup, she moved quietly to stand beside the bed, holding it out to him. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, the moaning next door reached a crescendo and Joss gave in to her laughter, sloshing a bit of the decoction over the edge of the mug.

"Maker's breath! What is that racket?" Teagan hissed, refusing to remove the pillow.

"I suspect it is the Antivan remedy for an aching head," Joss replied with a grin that was wasted on the pillow-hugging bann.

"Nnggh – I think I'm in need of a similar remedy," he moaned pitifully. He turned loose the pillow and sat up, clutching at his head.

Joss was more than willing to offer that type of remedy, but she felt fairly certain his head wouldn't really be in the game as he was an intriguing shade of lichen green. As if to prove her point, his eyes flew open, panic in their blue depths. No doubt his stomach was just as unhappy with him as his head was. She set the mug down and then held her hands out, touching his head to let her meager healing spell trickle into him.

"I'm not sure you're ready for an Antivan anything at the moment, Teagan. Maybe when you're feeling better? I think a nice bath in the dwarven bathtub hidden behind that partition will do the trick," she suggested, pointing to the tall, artfully crafted divider and trying to instill more sympathy and less humor in her voice.

"This won't hurt either," she added, indicating the mug.

With truculence and little grace, he grabbed the cup and drank the contents, a great shudder wracking him. What was it, Joss wondered, that made grown men become ill-tempered little boys when they weren't feeling well? She had often seen that happen in the Tower, and to witness her noble and even-tempered betrothed behaving as fractious as a spoiled child made her roll her eyes.

A great shout of laughter erupted from the other side of the wall and Teagan gave the stone a surly glare as she helped him to the awaiting bathtub. No doubt the wall quailed at such a ferocious frown.

She had already emptied and refilled the large stone tub and she watched, lips twitching into a smile, as Teagan tried to undress himself. He was having a great deal of trouble unlacing his knotted breeches, and Joss had similarly failed in her attempt to remove them the night before.

"I've decided that of all the dwarven ingenuity I've seen since our arrival this is their most brilliant. Look at these spigots, Teagan. Hot and cold water flows into the tub when you turn them. Ingenious! I suppose installing something like this in our home would require lava tubes and some sort of piping, but it really is a marvel."

Teagan grunted and sank into the hot water, shuddering, but looking decidedly less green, and much more likely to survive his ordeal with the ale. She sat on the edge of the tub, reached for a bar of soap, and lathered up a small square of fabric.

He leaned forward, bringing his knees up and resting his head on them. "Have I made a complete imbecile of myself, do you suppose?" he asked, looking absurdly guilty.

Joss snickered, remembering his performance on stage. "Not at all. The patrons of Tapsters seemed quite anxious that you return for an encore tonight."

A groan crept out of him as she began to wash his back. His color was returning and he seemed less an obstreperous boy and more good-natured bann as the bath progressed. In fact, he was almost his normal, charming self.

"I sang, didn't I?" he finally asked, shaking his head. She watched to make sure the motion didn't upset the delicate balance of his stomach.

"A captivating ballad of a woman's love for her blacksmith's hammer."

"Maker's mercy. Josslyn, my dear…" he began before trailing off. "I blame Fergus. He's always been a bad influence," he added, sounding endearingly apologetic and embarrassed. And sober and no longer queasy, which was a boon, as far as Joss was concerned. Her stomach was performing various acrobatic feats at the thought of telling him where she was going later that day. She pushed the thought away, but it just kept pushing right back. The bastard.

She leaned down to bestow a kiss on the top of his head, smiling. "I don't know how you'll be able to keep your head erect after this," she agreed with a sympathetic smile. Or it would have been if she hadn't tacked on a snicker at the end of it.

A wry laugh escaped Teagan and he sat up, reaching for her. His eyes held an impish light and he pulled her into the tub with him, splashing water in every direction. Apparently an erect head was not going to be an issue for him after all.

**~~~oOo~~~**

Joss finally understood what Teagan had found so fascinating about Lumpy, all those weeks ago in Denerim. She found her eyes continually drawn to the magnificent bump gracing Fergus's forehead. It was awe-inspiring and she found it impossible to resist. Catching her eyes locked on it yet again, Fergus shrugged ruefully, and reached up to rearrange his hair, covering the enormous purple bulge.

"It shall be named Knotty, accursed one," she intoned, before continuing with a grin, "You can hide it, but once seen, it can't be unseen. Poor Lumpy. She searched high and low for a mate during her tenure on my forehead and to no avail. Had she but known the future, she may have stayed long enough to forge a union with such an impressive fellow lump."

The others were laughing, and, as soon as Zevran explained the nature of their teasing, Fergus joined in.

"Now I have an image of Lumpy and Knotty, running after a bunch of little baby bumps," Jowan snorted. Well, that wasn't a scary picture. At. All. She had often wondered what went on in Jowan's mind, and, now that she knew, she wished she didn't. "What? I'm not the only one to think that, am I?"

"Maker, I hope so," Cathair replied with a shiver. She wasn't the only one with that hope, judging from the looks being thrown Jowan's way.

Without being asked, he went around the table to stand by the teyrn, chanting softly. The pale blue light flowed from his hands to Fergus's lump and Joss could almost see it shrinking. There had to be a joke in there somewhere about shrinking knotty lumps, but Josslyn's mind flitted back to the fight she was sure was imminent.

Breakfast was just a bad memory of lichen-infused nug surprise and brackish black liquid that pretended to be tea. It sat in her stomach like a lump, which made her glance over at the recovering teyrn. Knotty was already beginning to disappear. Rather than announce her plans, which would have been the right thing to do, Joss found herself leaning closer to Fergus.

"Tell me, Teyrn Fergus, did you wake up with a throbbing head this morning?" Joss asked quietly, giving him her best wide-eyed, sympathetic smile.

Fergus grinned his most boyish grin. "Zevran and Teagan were right about you. You are a saucy little minx." Which, while flattering, didn't answer her question.

Probably best to let that sleeping dog lie, she decided and was just about to launch a retaliatory strike on Zev and Teagan when the door to the common room was flung open and a short red-headed man stumped in.

Before she could recover from the surprise, he bellowed, "Time to go, Warden!"

Joss blinked, her stomach now refusing to stop its incessant complaining. The news was about to be delivered by the dwarf…what was his name? Orville? Oden? Ogler? "Good morning, Ogden," she greeted, almost positive that was the dwarf's name.

"That's _Oghren_. Now get your keister outta that chair."

Joss shook her head, violently. Her stomach pitched and swayed. "Wait outside. Or better yet, go have breakfast at Tapsters and we'll meet you there, Orgden" she said but the damage, of course, was already done.

"We aren't seriously going into the Deep Roads," Jowan said in a choked voice.

"We most certainly are not," Teagan agreed, standing to tower over Joss as she sat in her toy chair.

"Do you see any Paragons hangin' around here?" the dwarf asked belligerently but added a loud guffaw at the end when Jowan looked around the nearly-deserted room.

Joss sighed. So much for her romantic notions of marriage and life with a bann. And really, when she thought about it, the betrothal had lasted far longer than she'd thought it would. She had hoped there would be more time to explain her decision to Teagan in private, but their private time had been eaten up by other activities. She really needed to start thinking with other parts of her anatomy once in awhile.

"Jowan, Cathair, grab your gear and take Shorty outside. Let Shale know on your way out."

Shale had not made it past the main entryway because the doorway that had attacked Fergus was too small for the golem to fit through and the stony giant had remained in the lobby all night.

"Who you calling Shorty, Sparkie?" the dwarf challenged and then let out a roar of laughter as she aimed a lightning bolt at him. He was still rubbing his backside as he made his way out of the common room. "I like a woman with spunk."

Lovely, just what she'd always wanted…to be liked by a very strange and not altogether sober little man.

"Is there a reason you didn't order the three of us to gather our gear?" Teagan asked, waving his arm to include Zev and Fergus. His voice was a perfect imitation of winter.

Andraste's dimpled butt-cheeks! Did he think _she_ wanted to go traipsing around the tainted brick roads? She searched her pockets for a smile and discovered she was out of them.

"You three need to prepare Orzammar for a new – and most likely unexpected – king. I can't imagine anyone's ever considered Denek Helmi for King before now. You need to be here for Alistair and the other Wardens," she replied.

There, that was reasonably spoken and with nary a quiver in sight. She continued searching for a smile, but Teagan's next words sent any that may have been lurking right back into the shadows.

"I have watched you pull some bone-headed moves, Josslyn, but you are sadly mistaken if you think I'll stand by and watch you go into the Deep Roads without me."

"Perhaps we could have this discussion in private?" she suggested hopefully.

"Oh no, my lovely Warden, this I will not allow," Zevran said, his scowl sitting with great relish on his face. Had she ever seen him scowl before? Ever? She couldn't think of a time.

Joss's temper began an assault on her calm, not that she had a great deal of calm to start with. "You do know that I have the power to put you all into a deep sleep and then ward your arses inside your room, right?" she was horrified to hear herself say.

Maker's bloomers! What was wrong with her? But the anger, once there, just continued to grow and with it, her need to cry, throw things, and crawl under a rock. Well, except that last part, since she was technically already under a rock.

"This is not some stroll in the park with darkspawn. It's the Deep Roads, or, as one guard mentioned yesterday, the Tainted Brick Roads. Taint. Something that Jowan, Cathair and I are intimately familiar with. We can't be tainted because we already are. Shale can't be tainted because it's a golem. And dwarves have a resistance to the taint or they'd long ago have succumbed, I suspect."

"You don't trust us to watch out for ourselves?" Teagan demanded. Maker, he looked as angry as she felt. Good-bye Josslyn Guerrin, hello Josslyn Alone Again. Naturally. She'd been a complete nincompoop to believe otherwise.

"I trust you to watch out for yourselves. I don't, however, trust the darkspawn to behave. In fact, the taint tends to make them misbehave. And there's a veritable horde of them in the Deep Roads, lest you have forgotten," she added, hands on hips. _Please don't make me say it, Teagan. Please don't make me say it. _"The odds of my surviving the Deep Roads are extremely high. The odds of your surviving are grim to not at all."

"All the more reason for us to accompany you on this mad quest to find a paragon," Teagan argued.

"_This_ is a mad quest? Maker's painted pitchfork! This entire trek around Ferelden has been one mad quest after another. Why should this be any different?" she snorted, her anger soaring to new heights. And, oh bravo, who had turned on her waterworks? Did she have a spigot hidden on her somewhere?

"She's right, Teagan. We shouldn't go," Fergus said with such authority that even Joss couldn't argue with him, not that she wanted to since his tone forestalled the tumble of words pressing against her lips.

Silence fell into the room like an eavesdropper caught listening at the door. Joss was tempted to hug the big bear of a man except he didn't look all that happy with his admission. Zevran gave her one more scowl before slowly nodding his head. She turned her gaze on Teagan, whose face could have been made of the stone that surrounded them. Except for the bright splotches of color in his cheeks signifying he was still angry. Lovely.

"Out," Teagan growled. Joss gladly started for the door, relieved that the fight was over.

"I do not believe he means you, my lovely Warden."

A girl could wish, couldn't she? She watched as Fergus and Zevran stepped out of the room and closed the door behind them. Her stomach was doing the Remigold and her hands were chasing each other like chickens running from the butcher. Maker's unholy breath, she was wringing her hands…actually _wringing_ her hands. Her tears wanted to start all over again. She consigned them to the Fade. They didn't stay there, the traitors.

"Why, Josslyn?"

"We need the dwarven army and they aren't coming with us until a king orders them to. I'm not about to put that little despot Bhelen on the throne, nor that weak-willed, weak-chinned Harrowmont fellow. But anyone else will be laughed out of the chamber. A paragon will solve the dispute once and for all. As Ogful mentioned, there aren't any just hanging around but there is one hanging around in the Deep Roads."

"You know very well that's not what I meant."

"Right. But what you want me to say isn't necessarily what I want to say and just saying it might make you say something I don't want you to say and then we'll both be saying things that we don't want to say or the other person to say or …" she began, still wringing her fingers like a virgin on her wedding night, but Teagan's lips stopped her as he gathered her close enough to cut off all circulation except to those parts of her that thrived on his closeness.

"Just promise me you'll come back, and that you won't do anything foolish or noble."

"Have you met me? I don't have a noble bone in my body!" she exclaimed with a squeak of disbelief. She laughed self-consciously, or at least she was fairly certain she was laughing, she just wasn't sure why her cheeks were damp.

"I'll be back as quickly as possible…just zip in, grab the paragon, and out again lickety-split," she assured him once her voice had stabilized. She decided they needed more kissing and less talking. Teagan didn't seem to disagree.

"I'm going to go speak with this Oghren fellow and make sure he understands the importance of keeping you alive," Teagan told her once they'd finished assuring each other that their lips were in working order.

As soon as he had departed, Zevran returned. "You are determined to finish my assignment to kill you without any help from me," he commented, eyes boring into her.

"Well, what are friends for?" she replied with a grin that probably looked as natural as a Revered Mother in a house of ill-repute. She took his hands and squeezed them in her own. "I have a favor or two to ask," she continued.

"Of course! I feel as though I owe you a favor, since you are intent on killing yourself, thus saving me the trouble, my dear woman."

No sarcasm in that remark. At. All. "If we don't return within ten days, I want you to put your elite skills to work and assassinate Bhelen and Harrowmont. We don't have time to fiddle around waiting while Ferelden burns because these two jackanapes can't get their excrement gathered into one pile."

Zevran threw his head back and laughed. "The irony of actually being at the whim of a deadly sex goddess is a moment I shall always treasure," he replied, and then his smile faded. "And should you not return within ten days, I will do this, if you promise to return on the eleventh day."

"Done and done."

Of course, nothing they did was ever easy. As they made their way to the huge barrier doors, their dwarven friend stopped. "Don't suppose anyone has a map of the Deep Roads handy?" he rumbled around a belch.

Joss rolled her eyes and stared at the row of merchants that were plying their trade just a few feet away. "Surely one of them sells maps?" she retorted and went from merchant to merchant. She finally found one at a merchant who sold little golem dolls with the word "Orzammar" engraved on them - which she thought Alistair would love - as well as various other dwarven gewgaws similarly engraved.

The map was basic but the merchant, eager to earn a small tip, explained, "Just follow the tainted brick road."

Another merchant leaned close and whispered in a wise voice, "Follow the tainted brick road."

Before they could escape Merchant's Row, every merchant was chanting, "Follow the tainted brick road," as if it was the holiest of phrases. It seemed to Joss that the inhabitants of Orzammar were crazy, insane or addled. Many appeared to be all three at once.

They came to the Great Barrier Door and Joss took her pack from Teagan, who held on to it, pulling her in for another kiss. "Come back, Josslyn, or, by the Maker, I'll go in there after you."

She thought she ought to make some formal speech, standing there with her group solemnly staring at her, but speeches had never been her strong suit. "Stay out of Tapsters, sing on key if you go in, and make sure nobody sleeps with Morrigan if I don't come back," she announced and then grinned.

"I'll be back before you know it," she added, with more wistfulness in her voice than she would have liked. She slipped her pack on and then turned, head held high to sally forth.

It was then that she learned that a land of dwarves was not the place to hold one's head high. Her chest collided with a well-armored guard, knocking her completely off her feet. Styx bounded over to her, licking her face and howling mournfully for his fallen mistress. She took Teagan's proffered hand and stood up, her cheeks as hot as a forge and that thought made her remember Teagan's song and she was laughing as she shook herself off.

"Once more unto the Deeps, dear friends, once more," she announced with a rueful smile.

She stopped on the threshold and looked back at Teagan, Fergus and Zev, who were all watching her with varying degrees of concern in their expressions. _How very reassuring…or, you know, not. _

Taking a deep breath, because she'd read somewhere that it gave one courage, Joss stepped into the Deep Roads, where her taint immediately went into a frenzy like misbehaving children after too many sweets. The door slammed shut with a reverberating shudder of protesting steel. She knew just how it felt. And why hadn't someone thought to mention the conditions in the Deep Roads? Did she have to do _all _the thinking?

"Andraste's hind tit! Anyone have a light?"


	39. Chapter 39

**A/N: **_The Deep Roads adventure will be split into two parts. I hope to have the second part posted later in the week. Sooner if the head-cold from Hell decides to move on to greener pastures. _

_Thank you to everyone for following along! Special thanks to Lisa for her wonderful beta assistance!_

**Dead Dwarves Society**

Apparently, the darkspawn didn't like the dark any more than Joss did. As the group made their way through the third and final barrier door, they stepped into a bright room, lava tubes and torches lighting the way. Joss blinked at the brightness and then stared up at the high, carved ceiling.

"What is it about you people and your high ceilings? Makes for great acoustics if you're a choir, but otherwise, it just creates annoying echoes."

"You think your _sky _isn't a high ceiling?" Oghren shot back, his bushy red brows winging upward.

"Except it isn't actually a ceiling," Cathair explained in a patient voice. They'd had this conversation several times in the last hour.

"And you know that how? You actually reached up and touched it, did you? Yeah, I didn't think so, Stretch."

Joss was still chuckling when they ran into their first creepy crawlies. And were they ever: lizard-like creatures with gaping maws for mouths that made skittering, clicking noises and shrieked like offended nobles when they attacked. Joss did not like them. At. All. She did her best to demonstrate that dislike in the form of impressive fireballs and lightning bolts.

And they seemed to be behind every rock, and in every nook and cranny, in those first hours. Well, sure, that made sense. What else was there to do in the Deep Roads but breed and then hang around in the dark, waiting for unsuspecting adventurers?

"You know, Twinkle-Toes, when I said deep stalkers were good cooked, this isn't what I meant," Oghren commented, wiping the blood off his blade.

Joss stared at the charred remains of a pile of deep stalkers and shuddered. "I wouldn't eat them on a dare."

"Never figured you for a sissy," Oghren grunted. "Next time, see if you can just slow-roast them."

He squatted down beside the pile, and for a minute, she thought he was going to start munching on the smoldering remains. She closed her eyes and waited until she heard him stand again before she opened them. Maker's roasted nuts, if he was chewing when she looked at him she'd make sure the contents of her stomach wound up on his greaves.

He wasn't chewing, thank the Maker's knobby knees. Instead, she noted that he'd grabbed some of the eggs from a newly vacated nest and stuffed them into his pack. She made a mental note not to let Oghren cook for them. Ever.

As they continued on, Cathair remarked, "Does anyone else think the Archdemon can't sing his way out of a wet sack?"

"I can only guess the darkspawn are tone-deaf," Joss agreed. She had expected the voice to be other-worldly in its beauty, but it sounded like the cats they'd heard in the alleyways of Denerim, howling for mates.

Why anyone would follow such caterwauling was beyond her. It reminded her of the time the entire senior staff at the Tower had unaccountably gotten drunk on very little wine and serenaded the rest of the mages and templars. Colorfully. And off-key. Well, unaccountably was probably the wrong word, since she knew exactly how it had happened.

That was the summer she'd discovered that combining elderberry wine and deep mushrooms made people tipsy in a blink. Joseph and Brin had helped her swap out the normal elderberry wine for the new mix, which they called Shroomberry wine.

There wasn't one thing Joss liked about the creepy Deep Roads. Not. One. Thing. Well, that wasn't entirely true. The road markers were entertaining, at least. The very first one they'd come across had simply read: _This space intentionally left blank_.

They came across one that made Joss and Jowan howl with laughter and Oghren shake his head. "Couple of sodding kids," he rumbled and then read the sign out loud:

_My cheek, says she,  
Feels smooth as satin,  
Ha! Ha! Says he,  
That's my ass you're pattin'_.

For some reason, Oghren seemed to know exactly what the sign denoted sign because he took the next tunnel, which, he claimed, was southwest. She'd have to take his word for it.

"Just how do you know which way is which?" Jowan finally asked.

"Stone sense," the dwarf replied, buffing his nails on his beard. Or maybe, Joss thought, he was just cleaning some of the debris out of his neatly-braided facial hair.

"So, Shale, you must have tons of that," Jowan joked.

"The Whiney Mage seeks to amuse us? Perhaps a song delivered in the same high notes It managed while running from the deep stalkers?" Shale replied pithily.

"I don't whine! Joss, tell him I don't whine."

"I'll get right on that, Jowan," Joss replied, coming to a stop. "Although it would be more believable if you didn't actually whine."

"I don't whine, it's a nasal condition," he argued. He cleared his throat and lowered his chin, which, curiously enough, deepened his voice. "I don't whine," he added for emphasis.

"Good to know. Perhaps if you'd just keep your chin lowered all the time?" she suggested.

"There's a reason everyone in the Tower hated you," Jowan grumbled. "And can we stop and eat soon? I'm hungry."

They'd been walking for hours, fighting every abominable creature known to mankind, and she was exhausted. Stopping for a meal sounded great, except she didn't actually have an appetite. It, like her sanity, had been left in Orzammar, although many would dispute the latter. They would argue that she couldn't leave behind what she'd never possessed.

She leaned against the wall, only to jump away, shuddering and dancing around, desperate to get the goop off her shoulder where it had touched the stone wall. Maker's rotted teeth, was there _anywhere_ in the Deep Roads that wasn't tainted, befouled, besmirched or begrimed?

"It slimed me," she accused with a full body shudder, hitting the wall with a fireball.

"Nice shooting, Sparkie. That old taint'll think twice about messing with you again," Oghren laughed, slapping her on her back. Or rather, her rear. She sent a bolt of lightning into him, watching as his beard stood on end.

"What? Not my fault I'm built low to the ground," he said, trying to calm his beard.

"Besides, you're not my type."

Joss didn't know if that was a compliment or an insult coming from someone who didn't actually seem to have a type, other than _living,_ and even _then_ she wasn't entirely sure. "Oh, right; besides, you're married to a paragon. What was I thinking?"

She watched his face darken slightly and then he laughed, taking a nip from his flask. "Oh, aye, a paragon. At least between the sheets."

As Joss busily tried to erase that image, Cathair began to prepare a meal of dried apples, lichen bread and stringy meat. "That whole deep stalker meal is looking better and better," Joss commented, trying to chew the lichen bread, which seemed to be resisting her attempts to make it soft enough to actually swallow.

"So, you and that Blighter, Teagan? Eh?" Oghren asked, nudging her in the side with his elbow and smiling lewdly.

"Me and that Blighter, Teagan what?" Joss asked, wondering why she had just played right into his hands.

"Rolling his oats? Polishing the footstones?" he asked, waggling his brows in a poor imitation of Zev.

"That's right, he's plowing the fertile field," she said with a snicker.

"Bucking the forbidden horse?"

"Shouldn't that be bronto?" she interrupted. "Or, do you actually ride horses down here?"

"Aw, now you've made me lose my place. Need to start over," the dwarf rumbled around a laugh.

"No! Andraste's frosted nipples, don't start again."

"I gotta say, Warden, I'm impressed with your cursing. Mighty inspirational."

"I was trained by a master. Tell you what, you teach me all those phrases for dipping your wick and I'll teach you how to curse with the big boys…erm…people. No offense intended."

Oghren stood, spit into his palm and stretched his hand out to her. She stared at it, hoping her horror didn't show, but suspecting it did. She had no idea where that hand had been and she wasn't about to find out. She stuck her hand out beside his, knuckles resting against his knuckles, pulled her hand back and up, before snapping her fingers three times.

He stared at her like she'd grown a second head.

"That's the way we do it on the surface," she lied with a grin.

They entered Caridin's Cross two hours later. Or so Oghren stated. He could have said they were in Tymbucctoo, Rivain and she'd have believed him. They were making exceptional time, he claimed, and she couldn't argue with that either, mostly because the Deep Roads all looked the same, no matter what part they were in. It made figuring out where she was impossible. Not that she'd ever been all that good with directions anyway.

There were three road markers at the crossroads. Oghren chose to follow the one that read:

_No, No,  
She said  
To her bristly beau,  
I'd rather  
Wed your bronto_

"How in the Maker's name do you know which way to go from that?" Cathair asked as they turned down a long, brightly-lit tunnel.

"It's a dwarven thing, Stretch. Paragon Bhurmah created the markers to confuse our enemies."

"Who knew darkspawn and deep stalkers could read?" was Cathair's quick rejoinder.

Of course, the farther into the Deep Roads they traveled, the less time there was to comment on anything because they ran into several nests of deep stalkers and darkspawn. In fact, to Josslyn's annoyance, it seemed like every turn or twist in the road led to a nest of one kind or the other. Luckily, they hadn't run into any spiders or other creepy crawlies, although she had been warned it was possible that they might encounter a few small, inconsequential beasties.

"At least we know who's lighting all those torches," Jowan commented.

"I'd rather rely on the lava tubes," Joss replied.

"Sure, you say that now, but when the volcano that's creating them erupts, you'll change your tune," Jowan sniggered.

Well, that was a happy thought. Oh wait…no it wasn't. Shale, stomping along beside her, shook its head. "Should that occur, _It_ won't have time to change anything, not even Its smalls."

They were all still laughing at that when they encountered Josslyn's worst nightmare. The chamber they entered was filled with ginormous spiders and darkspawn. Well, the spiders were ginormous. The darkspawn were mostly not, except the rather angry looking ogre who was being munched on by the aforementioned spiders.

It could have been worse, she supposed; there could have been other giant creepy crawlies as well, but she was too busy doing the "get-the-webs-off-me" dance to give it all that much thought. And Oghren was so busy laughing at her that he didn't join the fray.

"Hold up! Let's watch Dumb and Dumber kill each other off," he snorted, holding an arm up. Cathair, sword and shield ready, stopped.

"Who's the ignoramus who decided to take a trip into the Deep Roads?" Joss demanded, trying to sound furious. It would have been much more intimidating had it not come out as a whimper, lost in the golem's stone back that she was hiding behind.

"I blame Bhelen and Harrowmont," Cathair muttered darkly.

"Andraste's flaming beard! Is that a dwarf out there fighting with them?" Joss exclaimed, poking her head out from behind Shale.

"Not the Legion?" Oghren countered, jumping up to see over Cathair.

"Not a legion, no. Just one," Joss affirmed before hiding her head again. "Let me know when I can look," she added, returning to the safety of her stone shield.

"Sodding scavengers," Oghren growled. "No use risking your life to save him, he's already gone to the dark side. A shame it's not the Legion of the Dead, though."

"Maker's breath! There's an entire legion of the dead down here?" Jowan quaked. Joss shuddered, remembering her fight with the undead at Redcliffe.

"Ancestor's tits, you pikeless fairy boy! Haven't you ever heard of the Legion of the Dead?"

"Jowan, shame on you!" Joss exclaimed before grinning sheepishly. "Erm…who are the Legion of the Dead again?"

"Disgraced nobles, outcasts and criminals, mostly. They have a funeral and go into the Deep Roads to find their honor."

There was an odd note of reverence in Oghren's voice that made Joss temporarily forget their dire circumstances, but, before she could say more, the last darkspawn fell to two large and hideous spiders that began making a bee-line for her group. Joss gulped. Loudly.

"It might wish to cast a spell now? That is what mages do, yes?" Shale asked dryly.

"Keep your shirt on," Joss retorted, forcing herself to step out from behind Shale and cast a paralyzing spell. Her fireball hit them at the same time as Jowan's icy blast hit them, and steam rose with a great hiss.

"Parboiled," Jowan crowed, looking inordinately pleased.

They crept forward to survey the large chamber, or, rather, Joss crept forward while the others all strode ahead. Bunch of smug bastards.

"Anyone see which way that dwarf went? He might know something about Branka," Cathair asked, scanning the room. There were exits in every direction, none of which looked friendly. But then again, short of finding a Deep Roads Inn and Emporium, she wasn't sure she'd recognize 'friendly' anyway.

"You see this?" Oghren asked, holding up a filthy handkerchief perforated by a multitude of tiny holes. _Andraste's lobes, he doesn't actually use that thing, does he?_ She hadn't said that out loud, had she? She glanced around at the others, who were all staring at the foul cloth.

"This is about what that dwarf's mind looks like. Note the holes," he added with a certain amount of pride. Joss shuddered.

"So his brain is snot-covered?" Jowan asked with a snicker.

"Why hasn't anyone killed you yet?" Oghren groused, shoving the handkerchief back into his pocket.

"Watch and learn, kid," he added, shaking his head. Reaching into his pack, he pulled out two deep stalker eggs. He carefully cracked one open and pointed to it. It was a nice circle of egg and yolk. "This is your brain."

He took the second egg and threw it on the ground; shell and yolk splashing everywhere. "This is your brain on taint."

"That's what we have to look forward to?" Cathair asked in disgust. "We stop a Blight but wind up with scrambled egg-brains?"

"No, you go into the Deep Roads and commit suicide by darkspawn," Oghren said casually, as if everyone knew that.

"Well, that's reassuring. Oh, wait, no it's not!" Jowan proclaimed. Joss couldn't agree more, which was a frightening enough thought.

"Don't knot them knickers of yours, boy, you got plenty of time to work on a cure," Oghren laughed, strutting off in the direction the dwarf had gone.

Crazy, scrambled-brains dwarf claimed his name was Ruck, which rang a bell of some kind in the back of Joss's mind.

"I takes the dark inside and hears the song. Bee-you-tee-full. Likes you," Ruck said, pointing at Joss.

"Oh, you don't want to like me. I'm mean," she replied quickly.

That's when she discovered doing anything quickly around Ruck was a waste of time. In fact, talking to him was like trying to have a conversation with a bumble-bee in a flowering garden. He flitted from subject to subject but never long enough to actually make any sense. Every time Joss thought he would settle on a subject, he was off again. Oghren thought he should be killed.

"It'd be a mercy," he grunted.

"What? Why? Who's he harming?" Jowan protested, sitting down next to Ruck, who was clutching a large rucksack full of what he called 'shinies'.

"Sodding scavenger," Oghren muttered in disgust. "Pawing through people's stuff. Well, he ain't gonna touch my junk!"

Joss thought it highly unlikely that anyone would actually _want_ to touch Oghren's junk, but kept that thought to herself. And Maker's marbles, why did Ruck's name sound familiar?

"Gilda!" she exclaimed. "No, not Gilda. Hilda?"

"Oh, Filda, the woman looking for her lost…oh Maker's breath, Ruck, your mother wants you to go home," Cathair interjected.

"No! No, no, no, no!" Ruck shouted, standing up and stomping for emphasis. "Ruck doesn't deserve mother."

"Aw, come on, Ruck. Everyone deserves a mother."

"No. I takes the dark inside. No going home for Ruck."

"But your mother misses you."

"No! Don't make Ruck mad. Mustn't make Ruck mad. Mad Ruck is bad Ruck is sad Ruck."

"Smashed eggs," Oghren reiterated. "I can make it quick."

Jowan turned to Joss and smiled apologetically. "I can use blood magic to see what, if anything, he knows about Branka."

"Ewww, you'd stick your fingers in his mind?" Cathair asked, lips twisted in revulsion.

"Thanks for your support," Jowan replied, obviously offended.

Joss squatted next to him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Sorry, but I have to agree with Cathair. No telling where his mind's been. But thanks for the offer."

Jowan looked at her, his eyes wide and shining with apprehension. "Am I – am I dying or something?" he whispered.

"What? No, of course not…well, I mean, sure, you're tainted and have this to look forward to, but not for years yet. Why?" Joss asked, surprised.

"Because you're being so reasonable and nice. Damn it, Joss, don't do that to me again!" Jowan replied, glaring at her. She ruffled his hair and stood up.

"Ruck, let's play a game. I'll give you a shiny if you'll tell me which way the paragon went," Joss said, reaching into her kit and pulling out a handful of coppers.

"Ruck isn't cheap," the dwarf said, shaking his head.

Rolling her eyes, Joss reached in and pulled out silver coins, glancing at Ruck. He shook his head again.

"Sorry, Ruck, but you're out in the middle of nowhere. What can you possibly need sovereigns for?"

"The spiders like the shinies, too. They take the paper and shinies and words."

"We killed the spiders, Ruck," Cathair explained patiently.

"Not the big spiders."

Joss felt her tongue stick to the roof of her mouth. Bigger than ginormous? What exactly _was_ bigger than ginormous? She shivered, not wanting to know, which is why her mouth promptly opened and asked, "Bigger than the ones we killed?"

"Bigger, yes. Uglier too, but smart."

Well yippee and yahoo, what could be better? "Where are the bigger, uglier, smarter spiders?"

"Behind you," Ruck said, pointing.

Joss was not going to turn around and look. She. Was. Not. Until she saw the look of horror on Jowan's pale face. She slowly turned her head and looked over her shoulder.

"Holy Andraste in a whorehouse!" Cathair exclaimed, pulling her sword out of her scabbard so quickly that Joss felt the breeze from it.

"You know, Oghren, your Dead Dwarves Society could show up about now and I wouldn't mind."

"Legion of the sodding Dead!" he roared, going into a frenzy of killing that he called his Berserker mode. She just knew to stand way back and duck the flying limbs when he went into it.

"Happy to help!" she replied cheerfully, and then screamed as a spider spat at her. How was it possible for a spider to spit?

It was a mess. They were slimed, webbed, tattered and thoroughly disgusted by the time they'd killed the corrupted gargantuan spiders. They found a small shield, a large axe, a complete set of heavy plate and what appeared to be bronto horns inside the stomach of the largest spider. They found Branka's journals in the nest.

"So, what do we do with Ruck?" Jowan asked after he and Joss had created a large rainstorm in order to wash the putrid goop off. Ruck had a great deal of fun in the water and wanted to buy the spell from her in exchange for shinies. If only magic really worked that way. She glanced down at her robes to see they were still covered with sticky spider fuzz. No amount of brushing at the robe removed the stubborn little bits of fluff.

"Kill the sodding nughumper, he's dead anyway," Oghren growled.

"If you're so set on him dying, _you_ kill him," Joss retorted, walking away. She was confident he wouldn't hurt Ruck. People like Oghren talked tough, but were generally big softies when it came down to it. She paused.

"I'm kidding, Oghren. Let him be, if he's happy. Besides, I don't want you to feel bad for killing some poor boy."

"Too late," Oghren muttered, stomping off.

Too late? Joss ran back to see Ruck, sitting on the floor, examining his loot. He looked up. "Pretty lady stay."

"I think he means you, Jowan," Joss laughed, turning to her fellow mage.

"Laugh it up, fuzzball," Jowan retorted.

"Pretty lady stay. You no go! You no go!" Ruck shouted and reached for Joss, who took a giant step backwards.

She glanced at Jowan, who glanced at Cathair, who glanced at Joss. They all shrugged.

"You go ahead, I'll be right there," Joss told them.

"No, Joss. I'll do it," Jowan surprised her by saying.

Aw, she could just hug him to bits. Except she was hot and tired. And feeling queasy, again, and sick to damned death of the screeching disharmony of the Archdemon's song. She just wanted to go back, crawl onto Teagan's lap and stay there.

"Don't give me lip, Jowan, or you'll croak your arse all the way back to Orzammar," she snarled. _Oh, nicely done, Miss Congeniality. Want to slap him while you're at it? Maybe kick him in the…shins?_

She gave him an apologetic shrug and moved to face Ruck again. Before she could even think what spell to cast, his eyes bulged and he shook his head, grabbing at his chest. He slumped down and stared at the vaulted ceiling of his shiny palace in the Deep Roads. He was dead, dead, dead.

"Well, I wasn't expecting that," Joss murmured and then ran out of the room to find a quiet place in which to toss her lunch. It was almost an hour before she realized Jowan had probably used a crushing prison on the poor demented dwarf. By then, she was up to her armpits in monsters again because the Deep Roads were just a laugh a minute.

"So, I thought you said the Dead Dwarves Society weren't actually dead!" Joss yelled above the roar of battle.

She glared at the dwarven spirits busy fighting them, right alongside their huge golems. Really, Shale ought to be ashamed. Maker knew _she_ was embarrassed that her golem was so dainty looking in comparison.

"Where the hell is that paragon of yours?" she gasped a short time later, standing amidst the pile of rubble formerly known as golems.

"Dead Trenches," Oghren answered, wiping at the sweat on his forehead with a beefy hand.

Her stomach lurched at the name. If the Deep Roads were chock-full of all things nasty, how much worse were the _Dead_ Trenches going to be? "Tell me it's around the next bend," she implored.

"Sure, I'll lie if you want," Oghren grunted, taking a swig from his flask and belching. "You seem like the type who likes a good lie," he added with a lewd grin.

"And what is this anvil thing she's looking for? Aren't there enough anvils in Orzammar?" she added, ignoring his suggestive leer.

"Not like the Anvil of the Void. Paragon Caridin used it to create the golems."

"That name is familiar to me," Shale replied.

"Ancestor's furry tits, it ought to be! Who's your daddy?" Oghren asked with a hearty laugh.

"It is no wonder the dwarven population is in decline," Shale uttered and Joss was almost certain the golem rolled its eyes.

It took them nearly two full days to reach the Dead Trenches. During that time, they hacked and slashed their way through droves of darkspawn and ate lichen bread. Joss couldn't sleep because of the constant cacophony of Archdemon golden oldies playing in her head.

After what seemed like months, they saw a group of dwarves, thirty strong, fighting waves of darkspawn. Joss counted the number of dwarves several times.

"You people do realize what 'legion' means, right? Multitudes? Hordes? Masses?"

"We don't need no stinkin' masses," Oghren said, thumping his chest. "One dwarf fights like a hundred of you sodding surfacers."

"Let's hope the Archdemon knows that," Jowan mumbled as they trudged toward the Legion.

Of course, they had to help slay the waves of darkspawn crossing the bridge, under which were actual legions of darkspawn. And Joss had her first up-close and personal view of the Archdemon, an ugly, puce, horned high dragon that swooped down at them before flying away. Joss was sure the thing was laughing at them.

When the fighting was done, a stout dwarf came and thumped his chest in salute. "I am Legion," the dwarf said formally.

"For we are many!" his troops cried.

No wonder the Archdemon was laughing as it flew away; fighting it would be akin to dousing a raging fire with spit.

**A/N:** _The road markers referenced in the chapter are loosely based on the old Burma Shave road signs. And no, I'm not that old, but I have a book of their slogans. Yep, that's my story and I'm sticking to it. _


	40. Chapter 40

**A/N: **_A huge thanks to Lisa for cleaning up a really rough chapter. You are a blessing! _  
_Still recovering from bronchitis and a broken rib, but getting better every day. Thank you for all the warm wishes!_

**Void Where Prohibited**

Alistair carefully parted the bushes and peered out across the road. On the other side of the wide path was Orlais. He looked left and then right. Seeing nothing, he stepped out and ran across the road, diving into the hedgerow on the other side.

"Clear!" he called softly, wincing as it came out much louder than he had thought it would. He was definitely not going to win "Rogue of the Year" that way, if such a title existed. Not that he minded. He was a warrior, not some prancing little stealthy guy.

He watched as Elissa, looking both ways, stepped out from behind a large tree and skittered across the road, ducking behind the bushes beside him. He stuck his head up, swiveling it first right and then left, before waving Sister Cookies-and-Milk over. She tiptoed across, holding her robes daintily in one hand.

"So, welcome to Orlais," he said with a proud grin.

"Nicely done, Alistair," Elissa said, giving him a bright smile. Alistair's chest puffed out.

"Now all we need to do is find Jader!" he continued exuberantly, standing. It was only then that he noticed Warden senses tingling.

"That won't be necessary," a thickly-accented voice proclaimed.

"Is this where I say 'uh oh'?" Alistair asked Elissa before turning in the direction of the voice.

A large group of Grey Wardens and support troops stood nearby, watching with some amusement. "Greetings from Ferelden?" Alistair asked with a nervous chuckle.

"I am Commander of the Grey of Orlais, Javier Dumond. State your business."

"My business? My business?" Alistair asked on a rising note. He felt Elissa's reassuring grip on his arm. Hysteria probably wouldn't help the cause any. He tried again. "I'm here to ask for help in ending the Blight," he stated, thinking that should be fairly obvious. "You know, a Blight? Archdemon, lots of darkspawn running amok?"

"We have been prohibited from crossing the border into Ferelden. It's the belief of the First Warden, as well as Empress Celene, that we should fortify the border and prepare Orlais for the eventuality of the Blight's arrival," Warden Commander Javier Dumond pronounced officiously.

"Ha, good one. Let's go now," Alistair said, motioning with his head. "Blight's that-a-way."

"I regret to inform you that we cannot accompany you."

Alistair scratched the back of his head. "Sorry, do you work for Empress Celene? Because, you know, I thought we were supposed to do whatever it takes to end a Blight. Or did I get the wrong handbook at my Joining?"

_Ooh, good one, Alistair. If you're really lucky they won't run you through with their big pointy swords_. He glared down at the mincing little fop that was the Warden Commander of Orlais. The man shrugged enigmatically and smiled. For a second, Alistair was tempted to punch the effeminate man in his prissy little mouth, but he realized the man had a legion of men around him, one of whom would probably skewer Alistair.

"I'll accompany him," a man said, stepping out of the crowd.

"I know you, don't I?" Alistair asked, trying to put a name to the face. An older Warden, with dancing blue eyes and a devilish smile. A friend of Duncan's. What was his name? Rohan? Ricardo? Gah, he was beginning to think like Joss. How long before he started speaking like her too?

"Riordan, Senior Warden of Jader," the man said with a bow. "I was at your Joining."

"Oh right, I remember. You and Duncan got shi…er…very happy that night, as I recall," Alistair replied, grinning.

"Riordan, you do not want to make Empress Celene and the First Warden unhappy," Commander Javier chided.

"The young man is right, Javier. We do what must be done. Stay back here and protect the border from…whatever it is you are protecting it from," Riordan responded dryly.

"That's it? That's all the help we get?" Alistair asked and cleared his throat on a high note. He watched as Riordan gathered up his gear.

"I shall go as well," a sultry voice announced and Alistair peered at the woman who stepped forward. Holy Andraste! Was she _wearing_ her leather armor or had someone _painted_ it on her? He gulped, wondering if his eyes were as bugged out as they felt.

"Bymbeau Caron, at your service," the woman leered suggestively at Alistair.

"Elissa Cousland, and I can imagine what _services_ you offer," Elissa replied with a distinct winter storm in her voice. Alistair, despite his desire to get back to Ferelden, allowed himself to puff out his chest again.

"Ah, and you are the camp follower, then? How droll," the other woman sniped. Alistair's chest deflated and he found himself nervously eyeing Elissa.

"You don't really want to escalate this, Bimbo," the young Cousland woman replied.

Alistair briefly entertained a fantasy of the two women wrestling, preferably in mud, before he returned to reality, mostly because Elissa's fingers were clamped like a vise on his upper arm. _Ouch_.

"That's _Bymbeau_!"

"Yes, I imagine so," Elissa replied with a dazzling smile.

Alistair cleared his throat nervously. "We really need to head back before the Archdemon gets all grouchy and destroys Ferelden in a snit," he began.

Riordan laughed and then turned to Bymbeau Caron. Alistair's eyes fixed on the buxom, tawny-haired woman with the incredible set of…"Ow! What was that for?" he asked Elissa, rubbing the back of his head where she'd just smacked him.

"You seemed in danger of forgetting how to breathe. I was just helping you remember," she replied with a serene smile.

"Bymi? Is that you?" Leliana asked, stepping out from behind the bushes and straightening her robe.

"Leliana? My dear woman! What in the Maker's name are you doing in chantry robes? Did I teach you nothing? The color? _Mon dieu_, it does nothing for your coloring at all!" the woman in question responded and promptly pulled Leliana into her arms, kissing her deeply.

Alistair wondered just how hard Elissa had hit him because he was definitely dreaming. He watched with growing interest until Leliana finally pulled away. "Wow, did not see that coming at all," he remarked to nobody in particular.

"Do not come with us, Bymi. There are so many travails on the road, you have no idea. Those darkspawn are beyond foul," Leliana Light-Skirt breathed, her blue eyes wide and her mouth pursed.

"But my dear, if you are enduring, surely I will be able to as well."

"No, I could not bear seeing you covered in darkspawn blood. You must stay here. But we'll always have Val Royeaux," Hot-Lips Leliana sighed, and, with another passionate kiss, she stepped back.

In the end, Bymbeau Caron took Leliana's advice and stayed behind. Alistair wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed until Elissa pulled him aside for a kiss that made his hair, among other things, stand on end.

"So, tell me everything," Riordan instructed as they headed back the way they'd come.

Leliana took up the request and began to sing of their exploits. Alistair wondered why he hadn't thought to trade her in for Bymbeau. He really needed to work on his leadership skills. Sighing, he led the way, trying to ignore Sister One-Note's lack of minstrel skills.

**~~~oOo~~~**

Apparently, the mighty Legion of the Dead couldn't do anything without orders from their king, who was currently dead. They had been fighting in that spot for months, and would remain there for some time to come if a new king wasn't chosen soon. It seemed a very strange way to run a legion. But then, she supposed, it was no stranger than calling thirty warriors a legion.

They spent the night with the group of dead men, and, while Joss adamantly refused to think about what it was she was eating, she ate enough for two. Or three. Maybe more. Jowan and Cathair joined her, but she noted that Oghren mostly drank his dinner and Shale stood off to the side, staring across the abyss known as the Dead Trenches. Afterwards, they gathered around their own meager fire and talked. Again, Oghren mostly drank, and handed his flask to Joss.

"You look like you could use it," he snickered.

"Ah, yes. To alcohol: the cause of, and solution to, all of life's problems," Joss said, saluting him with his flask before taking a nip. Her nose wrinkled. It tasted pretty weak for dwarven alcohol and she handed the flask back with a frown. He winked at her.

"Not bad for a human," he grumbled and took another nip.

The old faker. Or he'd palmed the flask with his good stuff in it and given her the watered down stuff. She wasn't going to ask which it was. Instead, she settled down on her bedroll and closed her eyes. It was the first night since they had entered the Creep Roads that Joss was actually able to sleep, and she entered the Fade in search of Teagan.

_He was pacing in front of a roaring fire in a nicely-appointed room that was obviously not dwarven in its construction. He looked frantic and, as soon as he saw her, he swept her into his arms, his lips moving against hers with enough heat to make her moan. _

_Hopefully, she was far enough away from the others that they hadn't actually heard that. _

"_Where have you been?" he asked anxiously. _

_Joss frowned. What kind of a question was that? "In the Deep Roads, where else?" _

"_I – yes, of course. I just expected you back by now. Don't think you'll get me to stay behind again," he added in as querulous a tone as she'd ever heard from him._

"_Sure. Next time, I'll bring you along ,and, when you die, I'll be too upset with you to mourn your passing," she said in a matching tone. Lovely. Come to the Fade. Have a fight. What a perfect idea, so full of win she was surprised she hadn't thought of it before._

_He sighed, pulling her close again. "I know you were right not to bring us along, but this waiting is for the birds. And speaking of birds, Morrigan arrived late yesterday and when she heard where you were, she gave us a tongue-lashing and flew away."_

"_Probably off having a snit somewhere. How are plans coming along for King Denek Helmi?"_

"_You can't return soon enough. There is open fighting amongst the Bhelen and Harrowmont factions, but more and more nobles are seeing the wisdom of fresh blood on the throne."_

_Joss shivered. "Please, could you rephrase that?"_

_Giving her a sympathetic smile, Teagan changed the subject. "How much longer will you be?"_

"_We still haven't found the damned paragon so don't expect us for at least five or six days. Tell Zevran, if you can pry him away from Fergus, to wait to implement Plan A until then."_

"_Plan A?" Teagan asked anxiously. _

_Joss grinned. "I'm sorry, that falls under the 'don't ask, don't tell' policy of the Grey Wardens, so I'm going to pretend you didn't ask."_

_Shaking his head in resignation, Teagan pulled her close again. _

She was still kissing him when she woke up, clutching her pack in her arms and kissing it.

"Yeah, I've had those kind of dreams a time or two myself," Oghren chuckled, extending a mug.

She let go of the pack and took the mug, sniffing its contents suspiciously, before drinking it down in one gulp. "It's not what you think," Joss replied and then grinned when he nudged her with another laugh. "Well, it might have been if you hadn't felt obliged to wake me."

"All that moaning and writhing," Oghren mumbled into his beard. "It was upsetting the kids," he continued, motioning to Jowan and Cathair, who were busy looking elsewhere.

She flashed a grin at them, watching Jowan squirm. "You're waiting for me to embarrass you, aren't you?" she asked knowingly.

"No! No, I'm not. I don't embarrass," Jowan declared quickly. "So please don't bother trying."

"Hmmm, that sounded like a challenge to me. Did it sound like a challenge to you, Oghren?"

"Aye, Warden."

"So, if I told everyone about the time you were caught in the First Enchanter's bed, you wouldn't be completely mortified?" Joss asked, her grin growing. Jowan was literally kicking the stones, looked abashed, and Cathair was studying him with a look of speculation.

"That's not fair. You swore you'd never mention that again!" Jowan protested.

"Fine, fine. I won't mention it. We'll just let everyone's imagination fill in the blanks," Joss reassured, hefting her pack and setting off.

Of course, they didn't get far before they encountered a large group of darkspawn. Happily, it didn't take them very long to dispatch them as they were working well together. Everyone stayed out of Oghren's way, the mages stayed away from everyone, and the darkspawn fell.

"Honestly, these things breed like rabbits," Joss complained, kicking at one of the bodies.

"Odd, since they all seem to be male. Or at least very flat females," Cathair agreed with a shudder. "And I'm not about to check, so wipe that look off your face," she added, glaring at Jowan.

"What? I didn't do anything."

"Maybe they leave the little misses at home, tending to the babyspawn?" Joss conjectured with a snicker.

They continued on, winding their way through the twisted tunnels of the Creep Roads. Joss was left to ponder, once again, the reproductive habits of the darkspawn, which made her feel dirty. In fact, the harder she tried to stop thinking about it, the more her mind turned to it.

They had just entered the old Legion city of Bownammar when Joss felt the hair on her arms stand up and flail.

"_First day, they mass and kick our ass_," a disembodied voice whispered.

"Andraste's moldy knickers!" she hissed.

"Ancestors's great bearded backs!" Oghren snorted at the same time.

"Who's out there?" Cathair called out.

Was she seriously expecting an answer, Joss wondered? "Shale, you're in the lead. Cathair, take up the rear. Oghren, stay right here," Joss ordered firmly. Or it would have been firmly if her voice hadn't been quivering like a plate of jelly in an earthquake.

They crept forward, Joss's hands white-knuckled on her staff. After a few moments of silence, Joss felt herself relaxing and their pace quickened to a crawl.

"_Third day, they take the brontos by mistake,"_ the voice intoned.

"By the stone, if that doesn't sound like Hespith," Oghren mumbled through his beard, looking as pale as the underbelly of a carp.

"What's a Hespith?" Joss asked, her voice only slightly less shaky than before.

"She's Branka's lover," he growled.

Well, that certainly explained it. Oh, wait, no it didn't. "Branka left a prime stud like you for a woman? That's hard to believe," Joss replied, trying to pry her feet from their hold on the stone. They did not want to move. At. All.

They inched forward. Every hair on Josslyn's body felt like it was standing up and screaming. She knew just how they felt.

"_Fifth day, they come again and it's the men who are slain."_

"So Branka really doesn't seem to be into men anymore, does she?" Joss managed around a seriously dry mouth. "Or poets, for that matter."

Oghren, to his credit, tried to laugh, but it came out on as a rumble in his chest that only made the hair on Josslyn's body dance around in terror.

"Hespith, you feckless bitch! Where's Branka?" Oghren yelled.

"Oh good, upset the mad woman who's chanting horrible things in the darkest part of the Deep Roads. Good plan, Oghren," Joss muttered.

"_It's the women they seek, after a hellish week."_

"It isn't a very good poet, is It?" Shale remarked dryly, continuing on. Joss had to hurry to catch up. There was no way she was getting too far away from her bulwark.

They entered a large room to discover a dwarven woman who appeared to be eating. She was bent over a body and Joss's mind took a nosedive. O_h no, I did not see her picking at that body and eating it_. Joss clapped a hand over her mouth as her stomach followed her mind.

"You were never that attractive, Hespith, but Ancestors's warts, woman, you really are a hag now," Oghren said, leaning on his axe with a grin.

"You can have her back, Oghren. She's so busy being crazy she's not much fun to be around anymore. In fact, she betrayed us all. Made a deal with the darkspawn. Laryn is…well, there's no way to describe it. Best if I show you," Hespith said, running out of the room.

"Maker's sagging arse! Do not follow her!" Joss ordered, watching as everyone ran after the crazy known as Hespith. Joss ran after them, muttering dire threats under her breath.

Laryn was huge. And crazy. And angry. She had more breasts than a spider had legs. In fact, she was a ringing endorsement for why breast bands should be a girl's best friend. Joss swore that she would wear hers every day and every night for the rest of her life.

The demented ex-dwarf was surrounded by large fleshy sacs. The minute they approached one, Laryn began hurling obscenities at them. Shale took offense and immediately started pummeling the behemoth, which seemed to further provoke Laryn, but not necessarily hurt it. Huge tentacles rose from the ground around her and started swiping at the group.

Through the entire fight, Hespith stood apart from them, bemoaning her lover's insanity. Which, in Josslyn's mind, made her only slightly less crazy than Branka. And at least Joss finally had her answer to how darkspawn procreated. It appeared that the answer was to take women and turn them into broodmothers by very unpleasant means. Which begged the question: how did they figure that out? She probably didn't really want to know.

Joss felt pity for the Broodmother but not so much that she was willing to stop casting fireballs at it. Just when she was sure they were going to be victorious, several fleshy sacs burst open and darkspawn spewed out.

"Pod people? The darkspawn are pod people?" Jowan asked, his voice so high and hysterical that Joss ran to him and slapped him sharply across each cheek.

"Thanks, I needed that," he murmured, rubbing his cheeks.

After poor Laryn and its brood of darkspawn were dead, Joss sank to the ground, panting. She didn't even want to try and process what she'd seen, but Hespith, who had provided no help during the fight, came up and began to talk again.

"Branka sold us down the lava tube to get at that damned Anvil of the Void. She's convinced that she can recreate Caridin's work, and she doesn't care who she betrays to get what she wants. I'm out of here, but do me a favor. Kill that bitch."

"Gladly," Cathair growled, stalking off.

"Hey, wait a minute, Stretch! That's my wife you're planning on killing!" Oghren shouted, running after her.

Joss looked after them and sighed. "A short break would have been nice."

She turned to ask Hespith to join them only to find the woman had climbed a nearby pile of rocks. "Good-bye, my love," the woman whispered and chucked herself off the pile of rocks. There was a faint 'sploosh' as her body hit the river of lava below her.

"This day is shaping up to be the worst day ever," Joss grumbled, allowing Jowan to help her to her feet.

"Worse than the undead debacle at Redcliffe?" he asked with a shaky grin.

"By a goodly sum," she averred as they headed out.

They caught up with the others because Oghren and Cathair had stopped to have an argument about killing Branka. Joss didn't really blame Oghren for resisting because nobody liked admitting they'd made a mistake, and Oghren had made a huge one in his choice of life-partners.

They cornered Branka in a ruined encampment. Or rather, they very kindly walked right into her trap. Joss thought that was very obliging of them…and extremely stupid. She reached up to wipe her face, sure she'd find egg on it. Nothing but sweat and grime. She must look stunning. Maker knew she was certainly stunned. Oghren not so much.

"Heeeere's Oghie!" he cheerfully sang out to his crazy wife. In fact, one would almost say he was manically cheerful and that was a thought she didn't want to have.

"Oghren, you always were a fool," his wife replied in disdain.

"Ah, Branka, come here and lay a big wet kiss on me," Oghren said, moving closer to the dwarf. "Run," he whispered to Joss as he passed her.

Sure, run where? The way behind them was covered by several tons of rock that had helpfully fallen into place the minute they stepped into the large cavern. The way forward didn't look all that friendly, either. Joss supposed she could run around in circles for awhile. Her mind was certainly doing plenty of that.

"Come on, Branka. Hespith was spewing some garbage about you handing over your entire house to the darkspawn. All I want is the truth," Oghren cajoled, grinning. "Run," he whispered out of the side of his mouth. Again. Didn't he think she would if she had somewhere to run to?

"The truth? You can't handle the truth!" Branka snarled.

"I can handle anything you dish out, Branka. Always could," he bragged.

"I'm happy to hear that, Oghren, because you and your little friends are going to get through the gauntlet and find the Anvil of the Void for me."

"Oh no, not another gauntlet," Joss groaned. "And if I refuse?"

"You can't. I'm your paragon," the megalomaniac replied.

"Crazy lady, you aren't my pair of anythings," Joss retorted.

"Oh, nice, Oghren. Did you pick this one up in a tavern?" Branka taunted. Joss hurled a fireball at the woman. The paragon laughed, holding her shield up and deflecting the fireball. It went sizzling off into the distance and exploded harmlessly. The bitch.

Oghren patiently explained what they needed. Branka laughed. Oghren tried again. Branka laughed again. "You know, I think I've figured out why you dwarves are all so crazy and grouchy. You sleep on stone. Get a feather bed, a nice down comforter. The world will be a happier place," Joss interjected, effectively stopping the third round of the Oghren versus Branka battle.

"Look, let's just do as she says and get out of here. Who cares if she has the Anvil, as long as she names the new king, right?" Oghren said.

"Who cares? Probably everyone she killed, or they would if they were actually capable of caring. Which they aren't. Because she slaughtered them all. You think she'll pat us on the head and thank us if we succeed? More likely she'll kill us all with a few 'mwahahas' along the way," Joss argued.

"Get me the Anvil and I'll choose the king _and_ bring an army of golems to fight the Blight at your side."

"Fine, fine. We'll find the Anvil, but I'm not giving it to the Paragon of Crazy Talk," Joss groused under her breath, and stomped off in the only direction she could go. Forward.

As gauntlets went, it was fairly straightforward and Joss had to wonder about the dwarves who'd died trying to manage it. From the number of bodies they found along the way, a number of them had given it their all, but her intrepid group had no trouble.

They breezed through everything except a giant grey stone skull that spit some kind of poison at them. Cathair and Shale spent more time dodging red poison than beating on the spirits guarding the head. Jowan bent down and fiddled with an anvil near them, trying to get the head to stop spinning and spewing.

"By the power of Greyskull!" Jowan shouted suddenly. The head came to a grinding halt and the dwarven spirits disappeared.

"Seriously?" Cathair asked.

"That's what it said to do," Jowan said defensively.

"Not complaining," Cathair said, beaming at her brilliant lover, who beamed back at her. Joss felt nauseous.

"Let Shale and Cathair go in first," Joss instructed as they opened the next door.

"Holy Andraste's bearded belly," Cathair gasped in awe.

Joss pushed around Jowan and Oghren to step into a chamber and discover…a huge golem with half a dozen smaller golems standing around him. "All are welcome. All welcome," one of the golems spoke up.

"What brings you here, stranger?" the huge steel golem asked, stepping forward. Joss took a step back, mindful of her toes.

"So _you_ are Caridin?" Shale asked. It sounded bored and a bit disappointed. Joss could understand why.

"Shale of House Cadash?"

"Erm…you two know each other?"

"Yes, stranger. Shale was a volunteer and the first female warrior to become a golem. Actually, she was the only female volunteer. Her name is on the Wall of Heroes."

Josslyn's eyes followed his pointing finger and they all hurried over to the wall he'd pointed out. There is was. Shayle, spelled with a 'y', and Joss snorted, choking on her laughter. "Shayle is a she?"

"It wishes to become toe jam?" Shayle threatened.

"Ah, still as feisty as ever, I see. It is nice to see some things never change," Caridin boomed before turning to Joss. "Now that you are here, Human, how about destroying the Anvil?"

"If you knew what we'd been through to get here and find the damned thing you wouldn't even ask that," Joss replied.

"I cannot let anyone use it. For each golem created, a dwarven soul is tortured. Those who volunteered accepted that but an all-volunteer force was insufficient, and I had to draft others. When I protested they put me on the Anvil. Now, destroy it."

"Oh no you don't!" Branka screamed, running into the room on her stumpy little legs. She held a rod in her hand. An errant thought flitted through Josslyn's mind about why Branka no longer needed Oghren, but she pushed it away.

"You think I'm going to watch someone destroy the one thing that will return us to our former glory?" Branka shrieked.

Why, Joss wondered tiredly, did crazy people always shriek? She rubbed her temples, wishing she was back in the Tower. "Listen, destroying your people's souls to save the soul of your people really doesn't make sense, does it?" she reasoned.

"Just give her the damned Anvil and let's get out of here," Oghren demanded.

"Not a chance," Jowan said, coming to stand beside Joss. "Move it or lose it, Oghren," he added, beginning to cast a spell.

The rod in Branka's hand was apparently a control rod, obviously sold by the same guy who'd sold Josslyn her control rod because it only worked on half the golems. Not only that, but, to Joss's disgust, it froze Caridin, rendering him no more than a spectator.

Spells bounced off Branka's shield and she hit Cathair hard enough to send the woman to the ground. Jowan bent over her, slapping a poultice on the woman's head and casting a spell. Shayle was trading rock punches with two other golems and Oghren was swinging his axe like his arse was on fire. Then Joss realized it actually_ was _on fire, that he'd stepped in the way of her fireball, and she quickly sent a tempest in his direction. She was fairly certain she heard the hiss of steam over the sounds of the battle.

The fight went on for what seemed like hours. Joss downed a lyrium potion and kept casting. Jowan was trying to heal Cathair when he caught Branka's shield with the side of his head and crumpled like a cheaply made pewter plate. All but one of the golems were down but so was Oghren, who went flying across the room to land in an unconscious heap with all the grace of a lump of melted wax.

Shayle was pounding at the remaining golem and Branka was pounding on Shayle, who seemed to be losing the fight. Joss winced as she saw a small chunk of rock fly off Shayle's shoulder. Branka was shrieking in triumph.

Josslyn's mana was nearly depleted again, and she uncorked another lyrium potion just as she heard the hissing, skittering of a spider. A large spider. She shuddered and slowly turned, preparing to hurl her largest bolt of lightning at the huge, ugly spider racing towards her. She blinked in surprise as the spider began to change shape, and suddenly Morrigan was running full tilt at her. Thank the Maker's hairy arse! Reinforcements!

"You know what you must do!" Morrigan shouted at her before shifting back into a spider and attacking the remaining golem.

Joss nodded and drank yet another lyrium potion. The room shimmered in a blue haze and she giggled.

"_Innah Ghawdah Daveedah! Toadioso Ad Nausuem!_" she roared, her hands twisting as she bent the Fade to her will.

Branka's eyes widened and then she shrank into a little green toad. "Ribbit!" she croaked, hopping about madly. "Ribbit! Ribbit. Croaaaak."

Joss sank to her knees, gasping as the sweat poured off her. Shayle glanced around and then lifted her foot. "No!" Joss shouted but it was too late. Shayle's foot continued downward and Joss winced, trying to turn away, but her eyes remained fixed on the crazy dwarf paragon. At the last minute, the toad hopped out of the way and continued hopping, heading straight for Joss. She struggled to her feet and prepared to cast a spell but she was out of mana.

Running across the floor of the cavern, she realized she was heading straight for Oghren and the lava flow below him. She skidded to a stop and turned. Morrigan was casting, directing the spell at Joss. Joss braced herself, trying to fathom why Morrigan, who had skittered to her rescue, was now casting spells on her, and then she saw the glowing pulse of a ward surround her. The frog bounced off the protective ward of repulsion and flew through the air, sailing over the ledge.

The spell dissipated and Shayle came to peer over the edge, wiping her hands together. "We will _not_ be hearing from that quarter again," the golem announced smugly.

Joss doubled over with laughter. Andraste's wrinkled butt-cheeks! The sight of Branka sailing into oblivion would stay with her forever, she was sure. Morrigan knelt beside her and Joss felt a wave of rejuvenating energy flowing into her. It did not dispel the laughter.

"Twould appear you are not injured, save for your brain," the witch remarked dryly.

"I don't know how or why, but thank you," Joss said in between bouts of laughter.

Shayle stomped off to talk with Caridin and Joss sat next to Morrigan as the laughter slowly died away.

"We have much to discuss, Josslyn, but now is not the time. Shall we tend to the others?"

Oghren began to stir then, groaning and clutching his head as he sat up. "What happened? Where's Branka?" he growled.

"Oghren, I have some good news and some bad news. The good news is that we survived," Joss said cheerfully.

"Oh, aye, I can see that. What's the bad news?"

Joss shuddered, not sure she could tell him what had happened. She glanced at Morrigan and the witch's golden eyes held a hint of humor.

"Twould seem the fool woman croaked."

**A/N again:** _Thank you Enaid, for your suggestion on how Morrigan should arrive!_


	41. Chapter 41

**A/N:** _Thank you, Lisa, friend and beta, for whipping this chapter into shape.  
Hopefully, now that I'm fully recovered, the updates will happen in a more timely manner. Thank you all for your well wishes and for your patience._

**Deliverance**

"What brings you into my darkspawn-filled corner of the Deep Roads?" Joss asked, once her breath had been found.

Morrigan was still perfectly coiffed, her breasts still perfectly contained within her miniscule top and there wasn't a speck of dirt, debris, entrails or blood on the woman. How, by the Maker's sorry arse, was that even possible?

Joss glanced down at her ripped robe, with not only dirt, blood and entrails splashed on the skirt, but a healthy amount of grey goo. She didn't even want to hazard a guess as to its mysterious origins, but it looked like stone and flesh mixed together into some sort of sludge, and that thought sent her stomach into the Land of Unhappy.

"Must you stare at my breasts in such a fashion?" Morrigan asked, arching a delicately curved brow.

"Hmmm, that sounds nasty when you say it like that. But, really, if you'd just tell me how you manage it, I'd be more than happy to stare elsewhere," Joss returned with a grin that immediately flipped downward into a frown as she brushed at her skirt.

"Leave off, Josslyn. That robe is only fit for the lava," the witch said, her lips unexpectedly curving.

It occurred to Joss that she might be in the Fade. They had beaten back an impossibly tough foe, found the stone roots of Shayle's beginning, had Morrigan come skittering to their rescue, and had all escaped virtually unscathed. And now, by some miracle of a divine power, Morrigan was actually cordial and smiling at her. Joss gulped. Had she slipped over the fine line between sanity and madness? _Was_ it a dream?

Glancing surreptitiously at the others, she saw them in various states of repose. Jowan was fluttering around Cathair as if the warrior was a sacred shrine of some kind. Oghren was mumbling incoherently as he stood looking down into Branka's very hot grave, and Shayle was reading the Wall of Heroes, stone lips moving silently. If it was a Fade dream, it was an odd one, even for her.

Of course, that didn't answer the question of whether or not she had succumbed to madness, but as the others didn't appear to be afraid of her, she supposed her madness wasn't the dangerous type.

She blinked and fastened her gaze on Morrigan, who was shaking her head again. "I cannot imagine why you will not destroy that monstrosity of a robe," she reiterated.

"Because limping back into Orzammar with nothing but a crown and a pack isn't something I really want to…on the other hand, it could be great fun. Just imagine the expressions on those tight-arsed nobles if I strolled into the assembly chamber in nothing but my skin and a smile?"

"There seems little point in attempting to hold a civilized conversation with you," Morrigan said with a well-placed sneer of disdain, but there was something else in the witch's expression that made Joss feel almost warm and fuzzy. That thought was enough to make her hair frizz.

"Probably because you want something from me."

Joss was sorry the minute the words slipped out. The witch had, after all, just saved her from certain death. To her credit, Morrigan didn't do any of the things Joss anticipated. No spells cast, no getting up and stalking away in a huff of righteous indignation, no rude noises or scathing remarks.

"Sorry, still working on those pesky people skills. The reason I won't get rid of the robe is because it was enchanted by a special friend, and it is all I have to remember him by. Yes, I know, it's disgustingly sentimental," she finished, rolling her eyes in a very mature manner.

Instead of a snappy, sarcastic reply, Morrigan nodded. "You are, as you admit, disgustingly sentimental, but I appreciate the garment's value. However, I do recommend cleaning some of those brains off."

Ewww. Brains? She'd been thoroughly disgusted by the notion of flesh and stone mixed into a pulp, but brains? Her stomach flipped, rebelled and sent Joss running to relieve it of its contents. When she was sure she'd lost every bit of it, she rubbed her tummy, weak and weepy. She hated how queasy she was, and decided that as soon as they got somewhere reasonably safe and full of normal people, she would work on a new potion that prevented pregnancy. Obviously the Joining Juice had altered how her old potion affected her.

With great resolve, she announced her plan to Jowan, who had just cast a healing spell on her. He dropped his hands, a look of alarm on his face.

"What? You look like you just discovered I have a terminal disease," Joss joked.

"No, no terminal disease. Ha! Except the taint, I mean." He looked as nervous as a young templar newly assigned to the Tower.

"Then stop looking like I caught you in bed with a flock of sheep," she ordered, voice stern.

He paled and then color ran helter-skelter into his face. Joss chuckled as he scurried away like a mouse chasing cheese.

Oghren came to find her next, silently holding out his flask of watered-down alcohol. "Don't you have anything stronger?" she asked, eyeing the flask.

"Aye. But unless you want a chest full of hair, I'd pass on it."

"While I'm all for my lover having a bit of chest hair, I doubt he'd feel the same about me sporting it."

Oghren gave a great shout of laughter and then waved the flask in front of her face until she reached up and yanked it out of his hands. Grimacing, she took a swig and handed it back. "I'm sorry about the way things turned out, Oghren."

"Aye, it pretty well sucks bronto eggs," he agreed, squatting down beside her, belching. "But what can you expect from a woman who ran off to the Deep Roads with her lover? Who in their right mind does that?"

"Right? I mean, at least I left my lover behind when I ran into the Deep Roads."

He slapped her back. "I like you, Warden. For a human, you ain't half bad."

"You like me well enough to come fight the Blight?" Joss asked with what she hoped was a winning smile. More than likely, it was more of a tired grimace.

"Ah, need a skilled warrior to kick darkspawn ass, eh? I'm your man." He puffed up like a water-soaked sponge.

"Actually, I need someone with your…attributes."

"Hey! Whatta ya mean by that, Warden?" Oghren bellowed, standing and placing his hand on his axe in a belligerent pose.

Joss sighed. "Relax, Shorty. I need you because it's about time Loghain learned the difference between red hair and auburn hair."

"Spectaculus!"

He stumped off to slap Shayle on the back and Joss winced as his arm shuddered from the impact. She would gladly lay her head down and sleep except that Morrigan was cooking supper for the group, an act of kindness that made Joss all kinds of nervous. She forced herself to walk over to the witch.

"Seriously, Morrigan, I appreciate the help and all, but why did you come find us? Redcliffe too confining for a witch of the Wilds?"

Morrigan scoffed, something she was particularly good at doing. "You find it strange that I returned to offer my aid, do you?"

"Strange? Strange is waking up in a linen closet wearing nothing but a templar's bucket and having no recollection of getting there. Not that I know about that from personal experience," Joss added quickly.

A sound very much like a chuckle came from Morrigan's direction. "'Twould seem the stories about the Tower are true, at least regarding your time there."

Joss shrugged and bent to the fire, avoiding Morrigan's eyes. "Or, you know, I just started the rumors to enhance my reputation."

"So you say, yet I have to wonder at a place that would allow you to run amok in it. 'Twould seem Mother was correct in telling me it was full of foolish mages."

Joss snorted. "Wow, and they say I need to work on my people skills?"

Morrigan folded her arms and gave Joss a chilly look. "In truth, I was able to translate several passages of Mother's grimoire, which necessitated my return."

Well that didn't sound good. At. All. Joss didn't want to know what Morrigan had discovered because her plate was full enough. She really, really didn't want to know, so of course, she asked.

"The amulet that mangy hound of yours found should be destroyed. I recommend dropping it into the lava."

"What? Why? I mean, other than it containing some freakish things, and being warm to the touch, and having a slight hum, it seems ordinary enough to me."

Put that way it did sound more than a bit odd. In fact, it ranked up there with all manner of extremely creepy things. She stared at Morrigan, waiting for the woman to explain why she should hurl her amulet into Branka's final resting place.

"My mother created _Arcae de Animus_ for many of her children through the years. I believe that may be one."

Frowning, Joss searched her Arcanum for a translation and then allowed her mouth to fall open in surprise. Or rather, her mouth fell open and she was powerless to stop it. "A container for a soul? Seriously?" Joss asked, reaching up with disgustingly shaky fingers and removing the amulet. "You mean some dead person's soul is in here? Ugh," Joss finished with a full body shiver.

"Truly, I have never met a more squeamish person, save Alistair."

"Ouch. You wound me. Or, you know, not. I may be squeamish, but at least I don't practice forbidden…oh, Andraste's fat arse, stop sniggering," Joss said, trying not to smile.

Once Morrigan gathered her regal self-control around her, she said, "You should destroy the amulet. The items contained within it will call forth the original owner if the proper magic is applied."

Joss stared down at the amulet. "Do you know who this is?"

"Only Mother has that information."

Joss tried to _walk_ to the ledge, but her legs refused to go slowly. She scampered over and hurled the amulet into the lava, watching as it disappeared with a bright flash. She wanted to feel apologetic for killing someone's soul, or rather, deep-frying it, but her relief was too busy making her grin.

"Is there one for you out there?" she asked, once she'd returned to Morrigan's side. At least it hadn't been Brin. That thought made her feel so much better. Oh wait, no it didn't! She wrestled with her nerves and nearly lost but finally managed to sit down again. Mostly because her legs were as shaky as a leaf caught in a tornado.

"No. Mother was waiting to inhabit my body before creating such an item. However, if my translation is correct, there are hundreds of these scattered throughout Thedas. 'Twould seem that Mother is possessed of a power not of this world."

Joss gulped. Loudly. "Just don't tell me she's some Old God or something."

Morrigan gave a slight shrug of her shoulders. "Most of the grimoire is written in an ancient language I am unfamiliar with, but I do not _believe_ she is. I believe she wants to be. I assume she wants that soul for herself."

"All the more reason you won't be getting your very own Old God soul."

"Mother will not be happy with that decision. However, having reflected upon the matter, I agree. I will not allow Mother such power for 'tis all she desires. I see the appeal of it, but my time must be spent on divining a method of escape. I will not be her vessel. There were hints of such devices in her grimoire. For now, let us concentrate on returning to Orzammar and ending the Blight."

Morrigan stirred the pot and Joss called the others over for dinner, effectively curtailing the conversation because she was pretty sure if she learned much more her head would explode, and, as she'd cleaned brains off her robes once already, she knew she didn't want to do it again. Especially if they were her brains.

They started back to Orzammar after only a few hours of sleep. Before they left, Joss insisted on throwing every bit of the Anvil into the lava. "And no souvenir gathering, Jowan. Take that piece of the Anvil out of your pack and toss it."

Jowan startled, but when Cathair punched his arm, he reluctantly burrowed into his pack and tossed the small piece of Anvil. Joss waited to see if Cathair patted him on the head. When she didn't, Joss continued on.

Without having to fight their way through masses of undead, darkspawn and hideously huge spiders, they made good time. Oghren was sure they'd be home within four days. Joss was disappointed. She'd hoped some sort of super secret shortcut would reveal itself, thus preventing them from having to retrace their steps, but none could be found.

"So, which is worse: killing a noble or humiliating him?" Joss asked as she and Oghren led their group.

Oghren stopped walking in favor of glaring at her. "I have a scab. You want to pick at that too?" he asked with a snarl.

Joss stopped as well and blinked in surprise. "Sorry? What does your scab have to do with Bhelen and Harrowmont?"

"What? What you are you – you mean you – Ancestors' stone-forsaken tits! Why didn't you just ask about them?"

Joss stared at her stumpy-legged friend. "Are you deaf? I just did."

"Just did what?"

"Andraste's hairy arse! I just…oh, never mind. Listen, do we kill Bhelen and Harrowmont or just humiliate them? I don't see them being thrilled by our choice of Denek Helmi as king. If they feel they can't support him, we need to do something about it quickly."

"The Aeducans have ruled for a long time. They've got friends all over Orzammar and you'll have to kill him to put an end to his network of cronies. Harrowmont is a toadying kiss-ass. Humiliate him and he'll slink back under the nearest rock."

Joss snickered but refused to explain what she'd found to snicker about, even though Oghren's red caterpillar of a brow climbed up to the top of his forehead. She couldn't very well tell him it had to do with the fate of his crazy wife because, though he was trying to act nonchalant about it, it was obvious he was mourning her.

"So, how are you going to get rid of Harrowmont?" Oghren asked a few minutes later.

There was a note of gleeful anticipation in his voice that Joss could appreciate. After all, if Harrowmont and Bhelen hadn't been complete nodcocks, Joss and company wouldn't have had to traipse all under Thedas looking for, and killing, a paragon.

"I'm going to make him an offer he can't refuse," Joss deadpanned.

Oghren slapped her back, propelling her forward several feet and making her eyes water. "You're alright, Warden," he added.

Maker only knew what a slap on the back would feel like if he _didn't_ like her. She was fairly certain that she'd have a bruise in the shape of Oghren's hand in the middle of her back. Hopefully, Teagan wouldn't notice it, and if he did, hopefully, he would be a gentleman and not ask where it came from; there was enough to tell him when they returned.

The night before they were due to arrive in Orzammar, Joss went on a Fade walkabout. She found Zevran first.

She stood on a bluff overlooking a city by a bay, a city built on hills that rolled gently to the sea. As she watched, the lights of the city went down and the sun shone on the bay. It was then that she saw Zevran, sitting on the dock of the bay. He appeared to be watching the tide roll away, just sitting on the dock of the bay, wasting time.

Somehow she'd expected to find him in a huge bed, surrounded by men and women of assorted sizes and shapes, not staring wistfully out at the deep blue waters of a bay. In fact, she'd been half afraid she'd interrupt a passionate scene between Fergus and her favorite assassin. She was oddly disappointed.

"You waiting for your ship to come in?" she asked softly as she settled beside him.

"Ah, my lovely Warden, welcome to Antiva City."

"Are you homesick?"

"Not at the moment, although I do crave a good fish chowder," he replied and then turned to her, his eyes bright. "I have dreamt of you before but never with clothes on. How novel."

She grinned, bumping shoulders with him. "You are such a big talker."

"I assure you, dear Josslyn, that is not the only area in which I am big," he replied with a leer.

"Sell it to someone who'll buy it," she replied affectionately.

"Why are you in my dreams? Not that I am not delighted with your company, lovely lady. Ah, let Zevran guess: you have changed your mind about Harrowmont and Bhelen?" he guessed correctly.

"Indeed. In fact, I want you to kill Bhelen if you can make it look like an accident. And Harrowmont needs to be humiliated, not killed."

"Ah, humiliation; a most effective weapon. And when do you need this accomplished?"

"We should be back in Orzammar by midday tomorrow. I am heading straight for the assembly so let that steward guy know so he can assemble the dishers. What's his name? Bandito? Banderol?"

"Bandelor. Assembly Steward Bandelor," Zev corrected when he'd finished chuckling at her expense. Not that she minded. He looked far less melancholy now that she'd given him an assignment.

"You do not give me much time, my sexy Warden. But, never fear, Zevran Arainai will accomplish this for you."

"Thank you, Zev. How's everything going?"

Before he could answer, he blinked out of view and she stood in the raw Fade. He'd obviously been awakened and since it was still the middle of the night, she suspected she knew who had done so.

The raw Fade shifted and it began to snow. Joss refused to shiver from the cold, but she wasn't too proud to shiver with fear. She moved toward the source of the storm, a glowing cloud that seemed to be gathering force.

"Well, well, Warden. What a pleasant surprise. What is it you are doing?" the disembodied voice of Flemeth asked with a hint of a smile.

"Me? I'm just walking in a winter wonderland. What are you doing here?"

"Watching and waiting for a friend. And here you are."

Joss shook the snow off and glanced around. Still no sign of the witch, but the snow stopped as suddenly as it began.

"Friends don't freeze friends. They don't follow them. They certainly don't…"

"Silence! Where is my amulet?" Flemeth shouted.

"Great. Demand silence in one breath and ask a question in another," Joss retorted, wondering who had taken possession of her mouth. Irritating a woman as powerful as Flemeth was not wise. Not wise at all.

A snort of laughter, eerily like Morrigan's, gave Joss a fine layer of goosebumps.

"Where has my amulet gone, young woman?" Flemeth asked, stepping out of the shadows.

"Do you mean your _Arcae de Animus_?" Joss asked, her voice surprisingly strong, as opposed to her knees which felt like water.

"Ah, so Morrigan has translated my grimoire. Clever child."

"Your amulet is gone with the wind. Or rather, gone with the lava."

The witch's eyes widened, becoming almost orange and glowing brightly. Joss fought her impulse to run, barely winning that battle. The witch blinked and her gaze was once again a pale gold.

"That is a shame. Jezebelle was one of my favorites and I had great plans for her."

"Happy to be of service. Now, if you'll excuse me," Joss began, turning to go.

"You can't find them all, Warden. Even if you had the time, which you don't. If I miss my guess, and I seldom do, you'll be quite busy for the foreseeable future."

Joss grinned. "Your party tricks are getting tiresome, and you aren't getting your Old God baby-soul thing, so find your own piece of the Fade," she replied and let her spell flow around her, a pale blue light that trailed off into the distance. She followed it, without looking back.

"Very good, Josslyn. You are finally beginning to understand your powers."

Joss nodded, still not looking back, but her footsteps quickened until she was running. And then she was awake, sitting up with a scream dying to be released. Creepy old bitch. She struggled out of her cocoon of a bedroll and stood on legs that were not nearly as shaky as they had been in the Fade, the traitors.

And there was something the crazy witch had said that made Joss finally realize why she was sick so often. Andraste's pierced nipples! She was an idiot. And then the image of the broodmother entered her head and her stomach pitched a fit.

When she was sure she could keep breakfast down, she returned to the fire and wolfed down the stale lichen bread and dried apples. Maker's marbles, how was she going to tell Teagan?

Entering Orzammar was a bit of a letdown. She'd expected to be greeted by throngs of people…masses of throngs of people. Which is not to say the group that met them wasn't a welcome sight. Well, except for the tall, rakish fellow with the burning blue eyes and dark stubble. He would be welcome if she knew who he was, but introductions waited as she fell into Teagan's arms with a very adult-like wail of relief.

To his credit, he didn't remark on what a mess she was, or how badly she smelled. He kept an arm firmly around her as he introduced Senior Warden Riordan, who gave her a sweeping bow. Joss glared at him. "Do you know about broodmothers?"

"Yes, Warden Josslyn, I know about them."

"And do you send women Wardens into the Deep Roads for their Calling?" she continued, and anyone acquainted with her knew that her deathly calm and sweet voice were harbingers of bad news for the recipient. In fact, Fergus, who stood to his left, and Alistair, who stood to his right, both moved away from him with alacrity. Teagan stepped away from her, but said nothing.

"All Wardens go into the Deep Roads for their Calling. We follow a non-discriminatory policy."

She froze him in place and then stood so close to him that she felt the ice on him. "I recommend you stop. Immediately. As in: do not do that anymore. When a male Warden wants to commit suicide by darkspawn, yay for him. When a female Warden feels the urge to enter the Deep Roads for her Calling, show her a bit of mercy and kill her. Got it?"

Of course, he couldn't respond because he was encased in ice. She allowed a wave of heat to begin the melting process. Honestly, the more she learned about the Grey Wardens, the more despicable they seemed.

Leaving Senior Warden Riordan to thaw, Joss looked at Alistair, grateful that Teagan's arm was once more around her waist. Maker, she was tired. And sick and tired, come to think of it.

"Please tell me that Riordan the Wonder Warden isn't the only Warden you brought back?"

"Well, sure, I_ could_ do that, Joss, but you told me never to lie to you again and erm…well…he's it. Everyone else stayed on the other side of the border, claiming they had orders."

"What a bunch of sorry sons of…" She broke off as Teagan's lips suddenly swooped down and captured hers. By the time her toes had uncurled they were in the Diamond Quarter, where the city criers were having a field day.

As they passed the first one, she heard: "Epic fail! Endrin Wannabe, Bhelen Aeducan, killed when he slipped on his soap in bizarre bathtub accident! Bathing will never be the same again, claims lover!"

Before she could stop laughing, another crier sang out: "Harrowmont leaves Orzammar in disgrace after being discovered in Lyrium Lana's House of Lust, wearing a gown and escorting two squealing pigs. Lyrium Lana claims he's a regular!"

She entered the assembly hall still laughing, wondering how she could ever repay Zevran for his mad skills as an assassin. The thought of that proper, pudgy ponce Harrowmont in a gown, surrounded by pigs, set her off again. She didn't dare think too much about that puffed up prat Bhelen slipping on a bar of soap and dying from it. Her sides ached from her laughter.

She brought forth the crown, created by Caridin's own hands, and then plunked it on Denek Helmi's head. "Do right by the casteless, or so help me, I'll come back and make you wish you had," Joss threatened around another bout of laughter. Probably not all that frightening a threat, she thought, trying to rein in her mirth.

And then, before she knew it, they were back at the inn and she was being pampered by Teagan. Once he was done pampering her, they fell into bed and made love like a couple of moonstruck teens. There wasn't a spot on her that he didn't find to kiss and she was all about allowing him access.

Just as he was starting to drift off to sleep, she nudged him and he blinked, opening an eye. "Joss, I would if I could, but I seem to have reached my limit," he murmured somewhat apologetically.

While she admitted to a hint of disappointment, she smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring manner, although from the sudden knitting of his brows, she suspected she would have to practice on that.

"What is it?" he asked, sitting up. She fought her eyes, which were quite happy to stare at his broad chest and nicely muscled torso, finally managing to meet his eyes.

"I have some good news and some bad news I really need to share."

Teagan's frown deepened. "This news can't wait until morning?"

Well, she supposed it could but she wasn't exactly sure she'd have the nerve to tell him in the morning. Besides, post-coital bliss would probably soften the blow substantially. Best strike while the iron was…well, not hot, exactly, but sated.

"The good news is that you're going to be a father. The bad news is that I'm going to be the mother."


	42. Chapter 42

**A/N:** _First, thank you so much, Lisa, for cleaning this up. Your suggestions, keen eye and help are appreciated more than I can say.  
My sincerest thanks to all of those reading, adding to favorites and reviewing. It's gratifying to see how many people enjoy Joss's story. _

**Family Feud**

Had Joss not been so tired and just the tiniest bit nervous – if a horde of butterflies dancing in her stomach could be considered tiny – she would have laughed at Teagan's suspicious, faintly wary expression. As it was, she settled for a wry smile when his eyes once again fell to her abdomen. Yes, there was a small bulge to it, but that had more to do with her being an absolute pig at dinner. And the mere thought of pigs made her want to laugh outright.

"If this is an attempt at humor…" Teagan started and then trailed off. Joss watched as he forced himself to look up from her belly to meet her eyes. "You're serious, aren't you? Maker's breath!" he exclaimed, fairly leaping from the bed in favor of pacing. He stopped, snapping his fingers as he headed for the door.

"Teagan –" Joss started, trying to maintain a serious expression and failing as another smile tickled her lips.

"Don't argue, Joss. You've already agreed to marry me," he said, incomprehensible in his excitement.

She hadn't argued with him, yet. And what did her agreeing to marry him have to do with anything? Joss's smile slipped as she tried to make sense of him. "I did, but…"

"Don't argue with me, Joss," he reiterated, his hand on the doorknob.

Joss felt compelled to disobey him. "But Teagan –"

"Not one word!" he thundered.

Like that wasn't a direct challenge? "Where are you going w –"

"To find that brother…that dwarf who wanted to open a chantry here…what was his name?"

Two thoughts collided in her brain. The first was that he was crazy for even asking her to recall anyone's name correctly; the other was that Teagan was very sexy in his 'take-charge' mode. He was looking at her expectantly and she fumbled around in her tired brain.

"Birkenstock? Borked? Buckler? Something like that," she offered.

"Burkel! Yes, thank you, my dear," Teagan agreed and smiled at her. "Now, stay here, I'll be back in a –"

"But, Teagan –" Joss interrupted again only to have her words overwhelmed by his much louder ones.

"Maker's breath, Joss! Please don't argue with me!" he exclaimed, exasperation overriding every other emotion.

Joss nodded, clamping a hand over her mouth, mostly to hide her smile.

"Thank you, my love. I'll be back as quickly as I can."

Or sooner, Joss mentally snickered, wondering just how long it would take him to realize he hadn't a stitch of clothing on. Not that she minded him wearing just his skin, but she was fairly certain that the inhabitants of Orzammar, who had already had quite a few shocks for one day, would not be impressed. Which wasn't to say he wasn't impressive. She sighed, urging her mind to stop cavorting around in her head.

It took less than a minute for Teagan to realize he was in the altogether. In fact, it took him just long enough for the innkeeper to hurl epithets at him for parading around his respectable inn wearing nothing more than a goatee.

"You might have said something," Teagan accused, slinking back into the room with cheeks that rivaled an embarrassed Alistair's in their redness.

Joss raised a brow. "Yes, because clearly, you kept urging me to speak up. Oh wait. No you didn't!" she responded, her smile giving way to a snicker.

Teagan began pulling on his discarded clothes, much to Joss's disappointment. She shook her heard. "You realize a brother in the chantry doesn't have the authority to marry anyone, right?"

Teagan gave her a grim smile as he hopped around the room, trying to put his pants on. She covered her eyes, sure he was going to topple over at any minute, hoping she could suppress her laughter long enough to hold a semi-intelligent conversation. Of course, it was a foolish hope, as it came out in waves when he slipped on her ill-placed breast band and landed on the bed beside her, still struggling with his pants.

"You might as well just leave them off and come back to bed," she invited, once she was sure she wouldn't laugh again.

"I won't have a child of mine born a bastard," he replied fiercely, followed by a sheepish grin as he began to comprehend that he'd gone a bit crazy for a few minutes. And Joss knew crazy when she saw it.

"I think we still have a little time. I may not know much about the whole process, but I'm guessing we have seven months before that happens."

Teagan sighed and eased out of his pants, an action that caught her attention and held it as his long, well-muscled legs emerged. She settled back against her pillows, watching him with unabashed lust.

"Besides," she added with a grin, "after showing the innkeeper your hidden…assets, I may have a rival to deal with in the near future."

Teagan didn't roll his eyes, to his credit, and Joss was keeping score. "When we arrive in Redcliffe, I'll make wedding arrangements with Mother Hannah," he avowed, pulling Joss so close she couldn't breathe. Or maybe it was his words that robbed her of breath.

"Hang on a tick," Joss protested, struggling to sit up. Panic was knocking at her heart, or her heart was knocking at her ribs. Either way, breathing was only becoming more difficult.

For the first time since she'd announced they were going to become parents, Teagan actually looked calm as he continued planning their upcoming nuptials. Her panic now contained the first seeds of anger.

"You'll stay at Redcliffe while we attend the landsmeet, and, after that, I'll have Ser Perth escort you to Rainesfere…ouch! What was that for?" Teagan asked, sounding wounded as he rubbed his arm where the lightning had hit him. Big baby, it wasn't _that _strong a spell.

"Sorry, but it does boggle the mind that you still don't have a clue as to what I want; you scrabble around in a frenzy to get married as if I don't have any say in the matter. Let's make a deal, shall we? I'll agree to marry you while we're in Redcliffe _if _you'll agree that I'm going to the landsmeet. To tell the truth, I plan on seeing this blighted Blight business through to the bitter end."

That went well, she congratulated herself, and then glanced at Teagan, who looked anything _but_ agreeable. So maybe it hadn't gone quite as well as she'd hoped. "You can't expect me to sit around and knit while you stomp off to fight _my_ Archdemon," she added reasonably. Or maybe the rising tone of indignation wasn't quite as reasonable as it could have been.

"_Your_ Archdemon? Believe it or not, Joss, you don't have a monopoly on the Archdemon. And, if you think I'll put you, and our baby, in jeopardy, you are sadly mistaken."

She couldn't help it. Laughter spilled out of her again. He glared pointedly at her, but the harder she tried to stifle it, the more determined it became. Hysteria was hiding somewhere in the room, she was sure, and it wouldn't be long, at this rate, before it made its presence known.

"Maker's breath, Joss, what is so funny?" he finally asked, his patience apparently going the same way as her self-control.

"You aren't actually talking to _me_, you do realize that, right? Every time you open your mouth, your eyes fall to my belly, and I've got a secret I'll share with you, Marmalade: a watched belly doesn't grow," she said after finally wrestling with her laughter and winning.

With an expression that managed to be both embarrassed and proud, Teagan reached out and touched the subject of their current discussion, his fingers so light on Joss's skin they tickled her.

"If you feel anything in there, it will either be the roast bronto I ate at dinner or your imagination. I'm not _that_ far along."

"My dear lady," he began, his voice tender, "we're going to have a child." He bent down and dropped a light kiss on her belly, before resting his head there.

"Very good, Teagan. You _were_ listening," she teased, disgusted by how loving her own voice was. Maker's brass balls, she was getting entirely too soft about life. But she let her fingers drift through his hair, gently scraping at his scalp. "Papa Teagan," she added as he kissed her tummy yet again. Andraste's twisted lips, if she didn't know better she'd think she'd been possessed by one of those gooey-sweet spirits she'd heard about but had yet to meet. Spirit Tenderheart or Harmony Spirit or something equally gag-worthy.

And a baby? What was the Maker thinking? Not that He actually had a hand, or _any_ other body part, in her becoming pregnant. Obviously He was not nearly as smart as the Chantry dogma suggested if he'd allowed such a thing. And, she was going to have to talk to Alistair about the myth that Wardens couldn't get pregnant.

"If you call me _Mama Joss_ your next word will be _ribbit_," she added, feeling a warm stir of breath across her abdomen as he let out a chuckle.

Joss's last coherent thought, before drifting off to sleep, was that Teagan made a very warm blanket.

**~~~oOo~~~**

Over breakfast the next morning, she announced the news to her group of companions. There was a low roar of noise as everyone started talking at once, except Styx, who seemed to be glaring at her. Joss reached down to rub behind his ear only to have him growl at her, so low and deep that it raised every single hair on the back of her neck and most of them on her arms as well.

"Ingrate," she muttered, pulling her hand back, absurdly grateful that it was still there. Before she could decide what to do about his odd behavior, the babble of voices rose to a feverish pitch.

"Oh, a baby. How adorable," Leliana the Lost and Delirious cooed, clapping her hands and hopping from one foot to the other in perfect imitation of a child in desperate need of a chamber pot.

"So, does this mean nobody has to die when we kill the Archdemon?" Jowan asked, looking up from his plate with interest. Joss snickered when Cathair reached over and thumped him lightly. "Oh, I mean, congratulations," he added quickly, grinning at his warrior woman.

"It seems a Grey Warden secret is no longer secret," the newest member of their group said quietly, glancing around the table. The only one looking faintly curious was Oghren.

"There are too many secrets in that secret club anyway," Alistair said, surprising Joss with his flash of maturity, which he promptly ruined by grinning and adding, "_She_ told everyone, not me."

"Thanks, Alistair. I suppose since I'm so good at giving away secrets, I can share with everyone where you think babies come from?" Joss shot back.

"Yes, my lovely Warden, we are all most curious where our handsome templar believes babies come from," Zevran spoke up.

"Only if the price is right," she responded with a grin.

"And what price would that be?" he challenged with a leer.

"Whatever it is, I'll double it if you don't say another word!" Alistair called out and then blushed brightly as both Joss and Zev turned rather suggestive smiles in his direction. "No! No, no, no. Stop looking at me like that," he exclaimed, his face a lovely shade of cerise.

And really, she could only hope her smile was merely suggestive, and not as daft as it had been earlier in the morning after Teagan had decided she needed a thorough tongue-lashing for not believing that she would make a good mother. Sometime in between the "Oh Maker," and the "Now, now!" had been a series of "Yes, yes, yes!" that he had assumed was her relenting and agreeing with him that she _would_ make a good mother. She wasn't about to disabuse him of his erroneous belief.

After breakfast, she and Teagan went to the desk to settle the bill. As nobody was around to take her money, she rang the small bell. "Yeah, yeah, keep your shirt on!" Wynken yelled and then, as he came out of the back room, he noticed Teagan and glared. "And the rest of your clothes, you pervert."

"Oh, that? That's a Fereldan custom on the eve of departure. It's to let the innkeeper know how much at home a patron feels in his establishment," Joss lied, grinning at the taciturn little dwarf behind the counter.

"Sod-sniffing surfacers," he muttered, shaking his head in disgust as he took their money and stalked off.

"What?" she asked Teagan innocently when he cleared his throat. "Imagine the surprise on the innkeeper's face if he ever goes topside and visits an inn. Supposing, of course, that he likes the place."

Before they left, Joss wrote a short note.

_My favorite First Enchanter,_

_Please find attached to this note one Dagna Janar, dwarf on a mission. She wants to learn all about the theory of magic and is willing to do anything you ask of her as long as she can study. While I'm a bit nervous about how _eager_ she is, I think she'll be a great help in putting the Tower's library back together._

_If this doesn't work out, feel free to laugh and point at me the next time we see each other. _

_How's Cullen? _

_I miss you!_

_Joss_

She found Dagna standing right where she'd left her nearly two weeks earlier, as cheerful as ever. Had the magic-loving girl even gone home in that time? It seemed entirely possible that she hadn't. Joss handed her the note. "Here's your entry into the wonderful world of the Circle of Magi. Behave yourself and mind what the mages tell you."

For the next five minutes she was hugged, her back thumped and her toes trounced as Dagna bounced around like a puppy dog finding its first bone. Finally, the girl ran off, in search of her backpack. "Let's hope that doesn't come back to bite me on the arse," she muttered, watching the retreating figure.

They left Orzammar in high spirits an hour later. Oghren hesitated on the top step, looking around him, a green tinge to his face.

"Hey, Big Red, you all right?" Joss asked, coming to stand with him.

"Aye, sure, it's just that the ceiling's a mite higher than I thought it would be."

"The ceiling? Oh, right. No worries, it's not as likely to cave in as your old ceiling. And no lava, either. That's a win-win situation," Joss assured him, slapping his back and offering an encouraging smile.

They hurried to catch up with the rest of the group, Joss still smiling, although she was concerned about Styx, who was ignoring her, his stumpy tail, as well as his snout, in the air.

"Is he upset that I didn't take him with me into the Deep Roads?" she asked Teagan as they headed towards Lake Calenhad.

"I'm not sure, my dear. Now that I think on it, however, he did spend most of his time curled up on our bed looking morose."

"Well, he's not happy with me now, that much is certain. He growled at me earlier."

Joss shrugged and tried not to worry as they tromped along. She added it to her list of things to worry about later. Much later, because the day was bright and she found, after so many days underground, that it was almost too bright. Blinking, she shaded her eyes as she walked. Before long, she noticed almost everyone else imitating her and she stopped in her tracks.

"What are you all doing?" she huffed, hands on hips.

"Looking," Alistair explained as if she was a two-year old.

"For what?"

"Uh, whatever you're looking for?" he asked, bracing himself. No doubt he was expecting a jolt of lightning to be directed at him. As tempting as that was, she showed a modicum of self-control and resisted the urge.

"I wasn't…" she began and trailed off, shrugging. "Well, sing out when you see it," she ordered as she began to move forward.

Teagan was chuckling at her side, having been one of the only two not to imitate her, Shayle being the other. She wasn't sure what it said about her leadership skills, if anything, but she found her grin was quite happy on her lips so she left it there. "Amazing how easily this group is entertained."

Several hours of relative peace and quiet descended on the group. Morrigan, who had shifted into her raven form shortly after stepping into the fresh air, came to circle around them, making Shayle stomp and flap her arms about her head. Alistair and Riordan were deep in discussion, Elissa walking beside them, hand-in-hand with Alistair. Zev and Fergus were busy laughing in that way men have when they are swapping lewd stories. Joss slipped her arm through Teagan's.

"Don't let this go to your head…either of them…but I missed you," she told him quietly.

She'd missed them all and that odd camaraderie she'd discovered with them. Maker's mixed nuts! She was becoming positively soppy. She blamed the baby and a lack of sleep, both of which could be laid squarely at Teagan's door. She ignored the rather sharp spike of panic at the thought of her impending parenthood.

When they stopped for their midday meal, Joss found herself sitting on a log beside Zev.

"My dear, you may fool the others, but not the great Zevran. Tell me why you look so…what is the word I am looking for? Ah, terrified, I believe."

"I'm not terrified, unless you know of a reason I should be terrified, in which case, keep it to yourself because I spent the last two weeks being terrified."

"You are afraid of the happy event, no? You think you won't be a good mother?"

Joss shielded her eyes, looking at Teagan, who was leaning against a tree, talking to Oghren. He was dressed in a plain white shirt and brown breeches, his boots gleaming in the midday sun. His hair, loose and falling around his shoulders, caught in the wind, a smile lighting his face. He looked like every fantasy she'd ever had about a highwayman, and she'd had plenty of them.

"Look at him, Zev. He's positively glowing. He shouldn't tie himself down to a crazy mage who has a habit of losing her playmates and those she loves. I'm hardly a shining example of motherhood."

She shouldn't have been surprised at Zev's angry expression, which he was directing at her. What were the odds? Oh, right, dumb question. She shook herself mentally and tried to return his look with one of her own but, as he snickered, she suspected she hadn't done a good job of it.

"Mi tesora, why do you do that? In Antiva, we have a saying that an ounce of mother is worth a pound of clergy.** You will be an unconventional mother, but that is no tragedy. The tragedy would be if you were not a mother at all."

"Balderdash. I'm going to make so many mistakes, and Teagan is going to be disgustingly perfect."

Zev laughed lightly, his hand curling around hers. "Only if you are by his side. He was a gloomy, depressing man while you were away. Poor Fergus and I were forced to entertain each other for hours on end."

"No doubt at great cost to your happiness."

"It is as you say, my lovely Warden," Zevran agreed morosely. He ruined any sympathy Joss might have felt for him by flashing a brilliant smile at her and adding, "I must not forget to thank your handsome bann."

"Thank you, my sexy assassin. Should you ever wish to talk about you and Fergus, know that I am all ears...erm...no offense. At least I am for now. Soon I'll be nothing but belly."

The assassin laughed. "Ah, lovely lady, that will be a sight to see."

"Sure, me waddling around as big as a barn…what's not to love about_ that_?"

**~~~oOo~~~**

Redcliffe was looking much better than it had when Joss had last seen it. The bodies were gone, for one thing. So were the undead bodies, which was even better. While the air still smelled like fish, it no longer smelled like death and decay, also a plus. In fact, her grateful stomach sang an anthem over that, with a stanza or two about her delight on being off the swaying ship. Lake Calenhad had been choppier than normal, according to the captain of their ship, The Happy Lemming, and he'd been quite content to follow in the wake of several other ships sailing south. Thank the Maker's hind tit none had run aground because they surely would have followed.

Morrigan had flown ahead to let Randal know when they would be arriving, and he was waiting for them, looking pathetically relieved. He shook Joss and then hugged her so tightly her breath was forced out of her. "Don't ever leave me in Wynne's company again. Ever. For any reason."

Joss nodded, trying to speak, but unable to because he wouldn't let go. Finally, with an embarrassed laugh, he stepped back. "She's driving Arlessa Isolde mad and won't let anyone visit the arl until he is back to full health. The bossy old bat."

The castle was in pristine order when they arrived. Every floor gleamed, but no more so than the silver. No doubt, Joss thought sourly, at the cost of the poor people down in the village who could have actually used the helping hands of the castle staff.

Isolde, nervously wringing her hands, came into the hall to greet them with smiles that didn't reach her sunken eyes. She looked exhausted and worried and, for one heartbeat, Joss felt sorry for her, until she looked around at the obscene excessiveness of the hall. Still, a woman her age, with only one child, now bound for the Tower, was probably a bit nervous about her position.

Niall all but flew down the curving staircase to pull Joss into his arms and swing her around, which made her stomach one unhappy dance partner. She zapped him lightly and, eyes blazing, he stopped spinning.

"It took you long enough," he accused as soon as he set her down again.

"That was deliberate. I was trying to draw out your torture inside this castle with its soft beds, warm fires and extravagant meals. Sorry," she replied dryly.

"Well, the arl is up and dressed, but Wynne is guarding him like he's the last virgin of the temple so good luck getting in," Niall replied with a morose look up the stairs.

"Why don't you go down to the tavern and have a few? In fact, anyone who wants to do that, feel free. Drinks on the arl, of course," she added with a grin at the arlessa who was making that unflattering moue thing she was so good at. Another win-win situation, Joss thought with a grin, watching all but Fergus, Teagan, Elissa and Alistair depart for the tavern.

"Come, my dear, you should rest," Teagan said, placing a steadying hand under her elbow.

"Oh? Am I tired? I'm sorry, I didn't realize that," Joss responded, tossing him a grin.

"I assume my room is ready?" he asked, glancing at Isolde.

"Yes, of course, Teagan. But I do not think that Warden Josslyn's is," Isolde said, glancing down at her twisting hands.

"She will be staying with me," he said succinctly and a touch of winter had entered his voice. In fact, the hall seemed distinctly colder. Joss bit back a triumphant smile and a childish urge to stick her tongue out at the arlessa.

"But, Teeeeeaaagan…" Isolde began, her wail reminding Joss of the time she'd accidentally stepped on Mr. Wiggum's tail.

"Not another word, Isolde."

Joss hastily amended her thoughts on the hall being cold to frigid, as in it was like an ice cave. She tossed her head, as regal as any queen, and then tripped on the ragged hem of her tattered robe. She heard a slight titter and reminded herself to zap Alistair at a later date. A bath and clean clothes were calling her and she was impatient to answer.

After a warm bath, shared by an unusually quiet Teagan, she dressed in her only non-tattered robe, the peach wool dress that Teagan had given her on her last visit. She glanced at Teagan, and, while he was lacing up the back of her gown, she asked lightly, "Was it something I said?" Of course it was, how could it not be? She was still only marginally housebroken, after all.

He dropped a kiss on her nape, his fingers lacing around her middle as he pulled her back to rest against him. "Yes, of course it is. Isn't that what you want to hear? Expect to hear?" he asked and she chose to ignore the slight sting in his words. She was beginning to suspect he was tense.

"Ow. Mean old man. Have I told you lately how much I hate loving you so much?"

"No, and I'm disappointed," he teased, his breath warm against her skin.

"I hate loving you so much," she whispered. "Now, let's go see your brother."

"Right after you promise not to cast any spells on him."

"What? Me? Cast a spell? Surely you jest."

"Joss," he warned quietly.

"Oh fine, have it your way. No spells," she replied, a bit embarrassed by the amount of sulkiness in her response.

It was not a quiet discussion. Arl Eamon looked better than the last time she'd seen him, but even healthier, he wasn't much to look at. Obviously Teagan had been the recipient of the good looks in the family. She bounced lightly on her feet, feeling a disgusting streak of proprietary pride. Take that, Arlessa Isolde, she thought with a small, smug smile that she tried to hide behind a cough.

After Teagan had filled him in on the events leading up to their return, Arl Eamon looked at Joss. Or rather, looked down his rather large nose, at her. "Your assistance is appreciated, Warden Josslyn. I would wish to reward you for all you've done to restore the village and gather an army."

_Sure, hand over your brother and we'll call it even_. _Oh wait, best not say that_. "No need for a reward. I was bored in the Tower anyway."

"Despite your flippant remarks, young lady, I feel a reward is in order."

"And I said it isn't necessary, Your Grace," she replied emphatically, with what she hoped was a healthy dose of 'kiss my arse, you bloody noble' in her tone.

Teagan, who was standing a bit apart from her, moved closer. She was sure it was a tacit reminder not to cast any spells at his bombastic, overblown bastard of a brother. She was wrong. He put his arm around her waist.

"Joss doesn't need to be rewarded with a shield or sword, or whatever it is you're giving to those you think merit your attention. She's a mage and has no use for them. In fact, any reward she wishes will be granted by me, as is my right as her future husband."

The silence snuck into the room like an uninvited guest. A _nude_, uninvited guest, she amended. She was extremely proud of Teagan and his speech; also a bit terrified because the old arl was looking murderous. She'd wager, and likely win, that he wanted to see her drawn and quartered.

"Don't be ridiculous, Teagan," the arl said dismissively. "You know your marriage to Elissa has already been arranged."

Oh no you didn't, Joss thought, feeling the tension ratchet up several notches. Cold and tense, how exhilarating. Oh wait. No it isn't. Her stomach agreed, flopping around like a fish out of water. Ugh, fish. Why had she thought of fish? She willed her mind to turn away from such thoughts. Or, she supposed, she could always throw up on the arl's glossy boots. It seemed only fair. Naturally, her stomach refused to cooperate, the bitch.

"Joss, my dear, will you excuse us?" Teagan's voice was deceptively quiet and, though the urge was strong, Joss refused to shake her finger at Eamon and say, "You're in trouble now." Instead, she took a deep breath and nodded.

"Just say the word and it's a hopping arl for the win," she whispered, turning to meet his gaze.

Humor and love, not to mention a fair amount of anger, were in his look. "Thank you, my lady, but I will handle this."

She nodded, biting back a torrent of nasty remarks she wanted to hurl at the arl, and left the room. Shutting the door quietly behind her, in a most dignified and adult manner, she then pressed her ear against it, unmindful of the maid who was passing by.

"Another infatuation, no doubt. She's pretty enough, in a rather common way."

"That will be enough, Eamon. She and I will be married as soon as Mother Hannah can perform the ceremony."

"Don't be a fool, Teagan. You have a responsibility to marry into the nobility and carry on the Guerrin name."

"I _will _be carrying on the name. As a matter of fact, Joss is carrying our child."

"What? Maker's breath, Teagan, how can you even be sure it's your child, if she is, indeed –"

Before he could finish, Joss heard a fist hitting flesh and the sickening sound of bones being broken, followed by a howl of anger and pain, several moans and a great deal of cursing. Not as colorful as hers, but Marmalade was learning, she'd give him that.

Without another thought, because she'd already filled her thinking quota, apparently, Joss opened the door and nearly fell into the room. Her eyes immediately sought out Teagan, who was nursing a very twisted looking hand, glaring daggers at his brother. Not that Joss blamed him; she was ready to plunge a dagger into the old man's heart, although she didn't actually have a dagger on her.

Arl Eamon was holding his nose, blood squeezing through his fingers, to drip with great delight on the beautiful carpet adorning his floor. She supposed jumping and cheering would be out of the question, but Andraste's pinched nipples, it was hard to resist.

Instead, as it seemed she was the only adult currently in the room, she went to the door and yelled, "Wynne! Get in here!"

Wynne, sycophant that she was, headed straight for the arl. Joss grabbed her robe on the way by and pulled her to a stop. "Teagan's hand, not that old geezer. He can bleed to death, for all I care."

"Termagant!" Eamon charged, but, with his broken nose, it sounded more like he'd sneezed.

Joss bit back a snort of laughter as she watched Teagan's hand begin to heal. She may hate Wynne, but the woman and her abomispirit worked…magic. As soon as Wynne nodded, having not spoken a word to her, Joss helped Teagan to his feet and they left the room.

"We'll stay at the inn," he announced as they went downstairs in search of liquid medicine.

"Ah, my handsome bann, such a thing is not possible. There is no room at the inn," Zevran announced, looking up from his chair by the fire. He was staying with Teyrn Fergus, who had been given a well-appointed room, Joss had no doubt.

"Well, I'm not staying here," Teagan said firmly.

"Surely the inn's stable has room for the pair of us? I mean, if it was good enough for the king's son, it's good enough for us, right?"

Teagan, still looking furious, and just a bit shocked, nodded. "It is not what I had envisioned for our first night back at Redcliffe," he apologized.

"It'll be fun, you'll see. Besides, I've always wanted a roll in the hay."

How was she to know she was allergic to the damned stuff?

**_An ounce of mother is worth a pound of clergy is actually a Spanish proverb. Also, there are at least 12 games mentioned in this chapter...in case anyone wanted to know. ;)_


	43. Chapter 43

**A/N: **_I am so sorry for the delay in chapters. The holidays descended with a vengeance, and an army of guests! I hope that everyone enjoyed the holidays and that the new year brings all manner of goodness to you and yours!_

_As always…huge thanks to my amazing beta, Lisa. Without her, I'd probably have given up long ago!_

_And thank you to all those who read, review and follow along on Josslyn's adventures!_

**And the Bride Wore Blight**

"If you don't stop laughing, you'll be doing it out of a different orifice," Joss warned, pushing Niall's hand away from her hive-besmirched face.

"You want to get married looking like this?" her fellow mage asked, his brow so high it nearly disappeared into his shaggy bangs.

"Bastard," she muttered, reaching up to scratch a particularly irksome blemish, only to have _her_ hand batted away.

"Bitch," Niall responded fondly, once more smoothing an unguent on her cheeks.

"The odds of my getting married before the baby is born – and no, I don't want you to tell me if it's a boy or a girl – are about the same as you being giddy on any given day."

"You know –"Niall began, only to be interrupted by Teagan, who wore a fierce frown on his face.

Joss once again pushed Niall's hands away and stood up, shooing him out of the room before turning to Teagan. "You look grim…I mean really, really grim. As in: you've just heard you have an incurable disease grim," she remarked once they were alone in Bella's room. The barmaid had given it up once she'd seen Joss's rash and heard the reason for it.

Teagan's blue eyes narrowed. "This is hardly a laughing matter," he replied seriously. "Her Eminence has decided that she must seek guidance from the Grand Cleric so there will be no wedding this afternoon."

Well, wasn't that what she'd predicted? Maker's painted arse! She loved her future husband but he was curiously naïve in believing they could just march up to the nearest revered mother and have her perform a wedding ceremony. Sure, maybe if Joss was a noble. Or even a peasant. But a mage? Not bloody likely. Better to marry a sweet-cream lady than a mage! Luckily, being a Grey Warden - and the woman responsible for saving Redcliffe from an infestation of the walking dead - helped somewhat. Still, Chief Thundercloud looked particularly angry.

"Do I look like I'm laughing? I'm too busy scratching to laugh, thank you very much. Whose idea was it to roll around in the hay anyway?" she replied with more than a bit of asperity. What a perfect way to influence friends and lovers. Or, you know, not.

He frowned at her and she returned the favor. Wonderful! Instead of getting married, they looked to be heading for a huge fight. What could be better? Oh right, any number of things, including dancing the Remigold with a bronto, sleeping with an ogre, and possibly playing chess with the Archdemon, although she really wasn't sure about that last bit. She was fairly certain 'checkmate' would have a whole new meaning.

"Yours, I believe," he replied curtly.

"Ouch. So much for chivalry. What happened to your promise of protection? Your vow to treat me as a fair maiden?" she sniped and then clamped a hand firmly over her mouth. Andraste's belly-button lint! Not even married and already a virago.

They glared at each other and then Joss found herself inexplicably laughing. Hormones, according to Niall, and not a moment too soon. "Maker's blue balls, if this is what marriage does to a person, count me out," she chuckled, wiping tears and unguent from her face. She walked to the door but Teagan's voice stopped her, his words as irksome as her rash.

"Time to run off to Zevran so he can set things to rights?" he asked, his voice a perfect imitation of a carping fishwife.

Turning, she shot a bolt of lightning at him that he adroitly dodged before moving to her, his face pained. "This is hardly the time to run to him, Joss. If we're to have any hope at all of this marriage working, we need to…ouch! Damnation!" he cursed, grabbing his buttocks and rubbing them. "Must you do that?"

She snickered. "I'm a mage. It's what we do in self-preservation mode. You'll have to accept that you'll be shocked from time to time, especially with your…hey!" Joss yelped, jumping away from him as he tried to kiss her. "No fair using underhanded tactics like that!"

"All's fair in love and war. Or in our case, both, it would seem," came his much calmer reply.

Who knew lightning would calm him down? She glared at him, hands on hips, though they twitched to deliver another spell. "Fine, fine. I'll concede the point," she announced, with an airy wave of dismissal, before continuing, "And for your information, Marmalade, I wasn't going in search of Zev. I was going to find the Revered Mother and give her a piece of my mind. Not that I can spare all that much of it," she added with a grin.

"Maker's breath, woman," he sighed and pulled her close. "Promise you won't zap, slap, or transmogrify Revered Mother Hannah. She's served the people of Redcliffe for many years," he admonished, nuzzling her neck.

"Stop cheating!" Joss hissed, feeling her willpower oozing out of her as he continued to let his lips wander the length of her neck. "As for the promise? Hmm, that is difficult. How's this: I can promise I won't toadify the revered mother _needlessly_."

"That is far from reassuring," her fiancé replied but at least he looked a bit less frustrated and a bit more cheerful.

She pulled on his braid and grinned again. "Better to be honest than breed false hopes, right?" she replied, watching sympathetically as the color drained from his face. "Oh fine, have it your way. I'll be an ordinary, everyday mage. In fact, I'll be the very model of a mage in general, no transmogrifying or consorting with demons." Why did that last remark sound so familiar? She tapped her chin, contemplating the situation, and, when no memory came to the forefront of her mind, she moved to the door again.

Leaving her betrothed _almost_ reassured, she made her way downstairs and out of the inn, only to run into Styx, Wynne and a very unhappy Jowan. Styx was growling at Wynne, nipping at the old mage's heels. Joss, never one to waste an opportunity, contemplated how many bites it would take for Styx to do serious damage to the abomispirit.

"Call off your beast immediately!" Wynne roared, as far from unruffled as Joss had ever seen her. Bits of her white hair were standing on end, she was very nearly foaming at the mouth and her cheeks had been assaulted by a putrid puce color.

"Don't tell me your _spirit_ is afraid of a puppy?" Joss smirked.

She was determined to be in a good mood, although everyone else seemed just as determined to put her in a bad mood. And watching Wynne being harassed by Styx was just the thing to put her in a happy state, until Styx turned a low growl on her. That wiped the smile right off her face.

"Styx, what is the matter with you?" she asked, squatting down beside the dog, whose fur was bristling like dry grass in a wind. She shivered and then tried to hide it with a laugh, which she suspected fooled no one.

The dog had been behaving strangely ever since he'd disappeared into the Korcari Wilds and Joss decided it was time to figure out why, mostly because she had all manner of free time. Oh wait! No she didn't. She had a wedding to arrange, a reconciliation to facilitate between her soon-to-be husband and his pompous prat of a brother, a Landsmeet to call, an Archdemon to slay and, sooner or later, a baby to prepare for. Just another day in paradise.

"Jowan tells me you are pregnant, Joss. You know the rules about mages and babies."

The laughter gusted from Joss, sailing across the village green like Teagan's sloop, Blythe Spirit, across Lake Calenhad. Oh yes, her day was shaping up to be some kind of wonderful.

"Wynne, unless I'm missing something obvious, you're not the First Enchanter, the Grand Cleric, or the Knight Commander. Am I right?" Joss asked when her voice had decided to stop quivering with mirth.

"But I – "

"Am. I. Right?"

Wynne glared at Joss, arms akimbo, but Joss refused to budge, waiting with ill-concealed impatience. Finally, the elder mage nodded and started to speak again, but Joss waved her into silence. "You are barely a mage, Wynne. In fact, many would claim you are more abomination than mage, so if you think I want to hear anything out of your mouth, you are all kinds of wrong. Come to think of it, you are all kinds of wrong anyway."

Turning to Jowan, Joss continued, since she was having so much fun ranting and raving like the town shrew. "Stop cowering, Jowan. You're a Grey Warden, and that means neither the Chantry, nor Lady Longwinded here, can touch you. In fact, the only people who threaten your freedom are the First Warden, who doesn't seem to give a flying fig about his people - or Blights, come to think of it - and me. You have nothing to be afraid of, so act accordingly."

Jowan shook his head, looking less than convinced. Exasperated, Joss pointed a finger at Jowan and looked sternly at Wynne. "You can't touch this," she stated firmly, and then glared at Jowan. "Hammer time…just keep pounding that into your head until you believe it because nobody else will until you do. Now, go forth and be happy. And brave," she instructed.

She watched as Jowan, followed by a suddenly meek Styx, strolled off in the direction of the lake. Jowan's shoulders stayed squared until he was almost out of sight, but just before he rounded a corner, she saw him wilt like overcooked greens.

Shrugging in resignation, she continued down the hill to the chantry and Revered Mother Hannah, only to be stopped by Murdock, Randal and Cathair. It was, of course, a conspiracy of some kind. Joss was torn between a mature round of foot stomping or an even more mature primal scream. At the rate she was going, she'd deliver the baby before she'd ever lecture the revered mother.

"Commander, my da would like a word with you," Randal explained in a faintly apologetic tone.

Joss tried very hard to look serene, but she was fairly certain she didn't manage it because three sets of brows rose in unison. Joss sighed and rubbed at her forehead, careful not to scratch the hives that were doing their best to resist Niall's treatment.

"Mayor Murdock, the village is looking a lot less dea…erm…great clean-up job!" Joss amended and slapped a smile on her lips, wondering if it looked as artificial as it felt. She could feel the corners quivering in protest.

"Thank you, Commander Josslyn. I am here to inform you that we may be simple folk, but we wish you and Teagan a long and happy life together."

Joss's smile capsized and she found herself frowning at the mayor of Redcliffe. She could certainly appreciate the townsfolk wishing Teagan and happy life, but why her? "What do you mean? Is that some sort of jape?"

"Er, sorry?"

"A joke?"

Murdock's frown matched hers. "What joke?"

"That's what I asked."

"What?"

"Joke? What's the joke?" Joss asked, her nerves unraveling like an old woolen stocking.

"I think he's serious, Commander," Cathair remarked quietly. Confused, Joss felt her frown causing permanent damage to her forehead in the form of creases. She rubbed at them, hoping to make them go away but doubting that she had done anything of the kind.

"Why?" Joss asked.

"Why what?" all three asked in unison.

Joss wondered where that nice primal scream was now that she needed it. "Never mind, forget I asked anything. Thank you for your well wishes, but it appears that Revered Mother Hannah has decided she can't perform a wedding without permission from Her Nibs, the Grand Cleric."

Murdock's frown returned, putting hers to shame. The man was a master scowler and could probably give lessons in it to anyone willing to contort their face in such a manner. "I'll speak with her, if you're set on getting married in the chantry."

"I'm actually on my way there, and from there up to the Castle in the Clouds to speak with His Holiness, Arl Eamon on High."

Cathair and Randal were surprised into chuckles. Or rather, Cathair snorted and Randal guffawed, but both were sounds of amusement. Murdock had turned apoplectic purple and it took her a moment to realize he too was trying to rein in his laughter. She supposed that laughing at the liege lord was simply not done, on pain of death or raised taxes or something else equally absurd.

"Commander, it isn't necessary to be married in the chantry. As mayor of the lands surrounding the Castle in the Clouds, I have the authority to conduct a civil ceremony, every bit as legal and binding as a marriage conducted under the auspices of –" but she didn't give him time to finish, leaning forward and bestowing a fervent kiss on the shocked man's lips.

"Thank you. Cathair, go and relay the news to Teagan, and have him make the arrangements. Murdock, if you weren't already married, and if I wasn't carrying another man's baby, I'd consider marrying you," she blathered, mentally crossing an item off her to-do list.

She was halfway up the hill to the castle and Arl Daemon when she spied Sister One Goose Shy of a Gaggle heading her way, her vacuous smile disturbing in its brilliance.

"Ah, Joss, you are just who I was looking for!"

Well, of course she was looking for her. Who wasn't? Refusing to show how grateful she was to stop and catch her breath, Joss glared at the Loopy Sister of Eternal Blather. "Why?" she asked bluntly.

"I wanted to remind you to avoid the revered mother. She may still be upset about the lyrium I borrowed when we were here last time," Sister One Sandwich Short of a Picnic replied with a seraphic smile.

Right. The reason Revered Mother Hannah wouldn't perform the wedding was all about lyrium theft and not the fact that she was an 'accursed one' by the Chantry's definition. Whew. What a relief. She'd just march in with an armload of lyrium potions and that would be that.

"Perhaps you should go and speak with the revered mother and ask her forgiveness, Sister Leliana. That might be just the thing that makes her change her mind," Joss suggested, opening her eyes wide in the hope that the Mad Woman of Orlais would do just that.

"Oh, what a brilliant idea Josslyn! I will do so immediately," Sister Nutters cooed before she continued on her way with another vacant smile firmly in place.

Andraste's hind tit, it was a mad world out there. Joss pushed herself onward, to the aerie in the clouds and the old bastard of a buzzard who lived there. Of course the Maker wasn't quite done making her task impossible. She met Fergus and Alistair coming down the hill a moment later. She was grateful for another reason to stop and catch her breath, which had decided to leave her at every opportunity.

"Joss! What are you doing up here?" Alistair asked by way of welcome. Who wouldn't feel all warm and fuzzy from that greeting?

"Just out having a nice, peaceful stroll," she replied around gasps, which probably cast some suspicion on her claim.

"Well, good, saves me from walking all the way down the hill and then back again. This hill is murder!" Alistair said, grinning boyishly and not at all winded, the young bastard. _Well, of course he's a bastard, you idiot!_

Fergus smiled at her, placing a hand under her elbow and she wondered if he could bear the brunt of her full weight were she to collapse against him, which was her inclination. Maker's painted beard, she was tired and it wasn't even midday yet. "Tell me you have come to carry me the rest of the way up this mountain," she asked hopefully.

"Are you crazy? Have you – ouch! What was that for?" Alistair asked, rubbing at the back of his neck where a large blast of cold air had slammed into him.

"I'm crazy, so why would I possibly know why I do what I do?" she asked, smiling as he continued shivering.

"You _are_ crazy! And mean and I – uh – I'll shut up now and hope the nice crazy mage forgives me?"

"Only if you'll both stop and let me catch my breath again. It keeps getting away from me."

They sat on the low stone wall nearby, silent for several moments. Or, rather, the two men sat silently, while she gasped like the best heroine in a melodrama. All she needed was to cast a hand to her brow for the picture to be complete. Well, that and the sweat to be wiped away from her face. Oh and the hives to disappear. And…she sighed.

"What did you need?" she asked when she was sure she could complete a sentence without running out of breath.

"Arl Eamon has sent messengers out to call for a Landsmeet and we thought it was time you knew our plan," Fergus said and grinned. "We would have explained it earlier, but…" he trailed off with another grin, so mischievous and endearing, she wanted to hug him.

"You weren't sure how I'd react?" Joss guessed, wanting to be angry and hurt but too grateful to be resting to work up any strong emotion.

"Zev says you're much more intuitive than you're given credit for."

"Zev has a large mouth," Joss replied, indignant and pleased at the same time.

"Surprisingly so," Fergus agreed with a leer that made Joss blush, no mean feat.

"So, what is the plan? Lie to Eamon about putting Alistair and Elissa forward as claimants to the throne and then surprising everyone, Eamon included, at the Landsmeet and announcing that you have the most right to the throne?"

Alistair's face fell, so disappointed that Joss was unable to contain her grin. "It's alright, Alistair, I won't tell anyone, I promise. My first thought was to marry you off to Queen Wonder-Bitch and that just seemed wrong, somehow. But something will have to be done about her because she doesn't strike me as someone who shares her toys nicely."

Fergus laughed, slinging his arm around her shoulders and nearly knocking her into the dirt in the process. She could certainly see his appeal and wasn't at all surprised that Zev was crazy about him. "I have plans to marry her, if that's what you're wondering, but with several caveats, some of which she might not agree to. In which case, I'll find another woman. Alfstanna, Bann of the Waking Sea comes to mind. She prefers women, which is handy, all things considered. But that will work itself out. Until then, it's important to keep Eamon believing his plans are being followed. We need his support for now. Once Howe is out of the picture, and Loghain brought to heel, that will change and the truth will be revealed."

"Please, please, let me be there when that happens," she entreated.

"My dear Joss, I wouldn't have it any other way."

They sat for a few moments, Joss oddly quiet as she contemplated his news. It made sense for him to be king, and if he could get Anora to agree to marry him, that would probably unify the country and put an end to the pointless civil war. Then her mind tripped over one of his comments. "Get rid of Howe how?"

"That's why I was coming to see you, actually. You're a Fade walker, right? Can you visit his dreams? Guide him towards a better path or make him jump off a cliff or something?"

Joss was faintly shocked and then shocked that she was shocked. "I can, although they are likely to take away my Mage Card for doing so. And not today. Today, if things go well, Mayor Murdock will be performing a wedding. In fact," she continued, eyeing Fergus, "I'm on my way to get that old buzzard that is Teagan's brother to come to the ceremony. Not because I give two bits for the bastard, but Teagan is oddly unsettled by the notion of never speaking to him again."

"I'll arrange that meeting. Tell Teagan to come up to the castle in about an hour. That should give me enough time to lord it over Eamon, who has more respect for titles and royal blood than anything else."

"Perfect. Now, Alistair, if you'll let the rest of our happy band of insanely perfect people know that there's a wedding they need to attend at sunset, somewhere, I'd be most grateful. Grateful enough to overlook the fact that you deceived your commander," she added with a grin.

Going down the hill was much easier than going up the hill and Joss found Teagan busy arranging a wedding when she walked into the tavern. She took a moment to study him and was disgusted to feel an almost overwhelming sense of joy sweep into her. Alistair was right, she was obviously crazy. Why else would she be standing in the middle of a tavern feeling all warm and happy about a marriage that couldn't possibly work?

"My lady, you've returned," Teagan said, coming to capture her hands and bringing them to his lips. She was transported to that first night in the rose garden when they had discovered their mutual attraction before being interrupted by…

"'Twould seem you have become quite touched in the head," Morrigan said bluntly, stepping out of the shadows of the tavern. "The Blight is nearly upon us and you find it necessary to stop our forward progress to marry this noble man?" she continued with a disdainful shake of her head.

"If the Blight is nearly upon us, why are you still here? Shouldn't you be out finding ways to stop your mother from possessing you? Or finding some idiot Warden to impregnate you?" Joss asked, pleased with how matter-of-fact she sounded. She was shocked to discover that she actually felt that way. Maker's ratty arse, what was wrong with her? Hormones. It had to be hormones. Yes, she'd blame them. She was too mellow and it was disconcerting to be that way.

Morrigan let out an indrawn breath, not quite a sigh, and stepped closer. "You have grown entirely too complacent. I cannot decide if that is a wise course of action, or a foolish decision. I suppose time will tell us."

"I'm glad you're staying with us, Morri. There are a few secrets we both still need to reveal, aren't there?" Warmth had inadvertently crept into Josslyn's voice and again she blamed hormones.

"If this is another attempt at the secrets of my bosom, I shall be very disappointed," Morrigan said coolly, moving towards the door and freedom.

"There's a shortage of perfect breasts in this world. It would be a pity to damage yours, but I will if it means I'll discover their secrets."

"Such childish melodrama," Morrigan replied, an odd note of affection in her voice, before disappearing.

To her surprise, Joss found herself laughing as she made her way upstairs.

**~~~oOo~~~**

Women gathered around her like birds to suet and Joss was ready to scream in frustration. "You can't wear that gown, Joss. It has…oh Maker, is that darkspawn blood on the hem?" Elissa asked in horror.

Joss looked down at the peach wool dress that Teagan had given her on her first visit to Redcliffe. "Just a small spot, ignore it."

"I have a lovely green silk dress you can borrow. It shouldn't need too much in the way of letting out," the young noblewoman continued and then stopped. "I didn't mean it the way it sounded."

Rolling her eyes, Joss stepped back and ran a hand through her carefully arranged coif, sending tendrils sliding out of the tidy chignon. Cathair slapped her hands away and Joss slapped Cathair's hands in return. Did they all really think she was going to transform into the princess bride? She was a mage, a Warden, a pregnant tart, to hear some talk, and getting married was just one more bizarre event in a life lived in Bizarreland. But Maker's knobby knees, she wished Brin and Joey were there to share in the bizarreness.

"All of you get out now, I need a minute to catch my breath."

The door closed and the small room was quiet. She was getting married. To a man she actually loved. What were the odds? And she was having a baby. A baby that the Chantry couldn't take away from her because she was not under their authority, nor was the child. She closed her eyes. She was an idiot to believe in happily ever-after. Maybe if she climbed out the window and …

"You look perfect," Teagan said, the door closing quietly behind him. She whipped around to face him, sending more tendrils of hair shifting, her chignon wobbling wildly.

He was dressed in his leathers, to her surprise. She'd expected him to be wearing his fancy noble clothes but he looked good enough to eat in his dark leathers, with his trim beard and neatly braided hair. He looked impossibly handsome and panic rose in her. She was wearing a blood-stained dress, her hair was a shambles, there were still a few hives playing tag on her face and she was tainted, for the Maker's sake. How could a marriage with her have any hope of working?

"Stop it," he whispered, moving forward and taking her hand. "You look perfect because you are perfect. For me," he added firmly and his blue eyes held hers. "I love you, Josslyn Winifred Amell."

Why? Why would anyone want to do something so risky and foolish? Her head screamed at her to run, to jump out the window and just keep going. So naturally she reached out and took his proffered arm instead. "You don't say?" she replied with a grin. "It just so happens I love you too, Teagan Guerrin, but if you tell anyone I said that, I'll deny it most strenuously."

"Deny it all you want, my dear lady. I know the truth," he replied as they went downstairs to be married.

Mayor Murdock cleared his throat and then boomed, "Quiet, the lot of you miscreants! There's a wedding to perform."

Joss was shocked to see the transformation that had taken place in the tavern. Instead of the usual straw on the floor, there were rose petals, no doubt from the gardens at Redcliffe Castle, which made her chortle in a very unladylike way. The room was lit by candles, rather than the smoky oil lamps, and the soft light erased much of the rough look of the place.

The taproom was full to bursting with her companions, as well as Arl Eamon - looking like a man who had eaten a case of prunes without a bathroom in sight - and Isolde, dressed in a silk gown and looking like fish out of water, which sent a memory into her brain she could live without. Connor peeked out shyly from behind his mother. Joss winked at him and his grin skittered across his face like a cat chasing a mouse. Ser Perth was also there, looking slightly scandalized but also envious and she managed to give him a wink as well, that made his cheeks bloom with color.

"Who witnesses the joining of Teagan and Josslyn?" Murdock asked in his gruff voice.

The rafters shook as every one of her companions yelled, "I do!" at the same time. The windows rattled in their frames at the laughter that followed.

"Wipe that leer off your face, Zev, he's talking about the ceremony, not the personal joining later," Joss whispered in a loud aside to her friend, who laughed again, his eyes shining with happiness for her and an odd, whimsical light. She nodded, glancing at the tall bear of a man beside Zev and saw Zev's smile grow before blinking out.

"Oh, Joss, you're actually getting married!" Sister One Wolf Short of a Pack chirped from somewhere in the back.

"It has a penchant for stating the complete obvious in such a way that makes me wish It was a bird," Shayle commented pithily. That would be a wonderful sight, Joss thought, imagining a cooing Leliana flapping around the room only to be stomped on by the stone golem.

"Just get it done so we can have a drink!" Oghren bellowed. "And do it right, you sodding Blighters!"

Joss turned to the dwarf and gave him a sassy grin. "You're my inspiration, Shorty."

"Damn straight, Stretch!" he replied, grinning.

And somewhere in the midst of the brief, civil ceremony, she was sure she felt Brin and Joey laughing their ghostly arses off at their Joss marrying into nobility.


	44. Chapter 44

**A/N: **_This chapter just kept getting longer and longer so I have done something unusual for me and split it into two chapters. I hope to have the second part ready to go by early next week.  
Lisa, as always, your suggestions and comments were spot on! Thank you! _

**Blasphemers, Schemers and Dreamers**

**- Part One -**

An eye opened, squinted, closed again. A sigh bubbled up, spilling into the quiet room. "There's no use pretending, is there? I'm awake," Joss admitted, rolling over and forcing her eyes open. She grinned as she eyed her sexy, naked husband.

"We're married, right? I mean, I didn't dream that bit, did I?"

"Not unless we're sharing the same dream."

Joss's smile widened. "Some would call that a nightmare."

With an answering grin that was equal parts suggestive and sleepy, Teagan leaned down and bit her lower lip. Slowly. She wound her legs around him, pulling him close. "So, Maker Teagan, just how big a blessing are you willing to bestow?"

An hour later, dressed, redressed, sated and starving, Joss made her way down the stairs to the taproom. Her Wardens and companions were grouped around a long table, busy eating. Her stomach growled. Loudly.

"Afternoon, Joss! So kind of you to join us," Alistair said, his face home to a smug smile.

"Watch it, Junior, or you'll be hearing all about the reasons why I'm late."

"Does it have anything to do with that mark on your neck, my lovely Warden?" Zev asked with a knowing wink.

Andraste's chin-whiskers! The entire room was leering at her, expecting her to what? Run through a blow-by-blow account of her wedding night? Discuss the ins and outs of her honeymoon? She rubbed at the mark on her neck and then pulled her hand away once she saw how brilliantly red Alistair's cheeks had become.

"Why yes, Zev, it does. Alistair, would you like to hear the tale of The Purple Mark?" she asked, casting her voice low and injecting what she hoped was mystery into it. Judging by his expression, she'd missed mystery and headed straight for lewd.

"No! Maker's breath, I don't – you didn't – I hate you."

Moving to stand in front of him, she reached up and patted his cheek affectionately. "Well, I'm sorry to hear that because I was about to declare my love for you. Alas and alack, woe is me. Cruel fates to punish me so!" she exclaimed dramatically, the back of her hand pressed to her brow.

"Is anyone buying this act?" she asked in a stage whisper. Zev shook his head.

"Not even Chantry Boy," he said sadly.

She was happy. Happy in a way that she hadn't been since her abbreviated time with Brin, and she wasn't about to let a pesky little thing like the Blight or that annoying Civil War take away from that happiness. Disgustingly, brilliantly happy. And married. Maker's calloused palms…she was married and having a baby.

"Quick, pinch me. I have got to be dreaming," she whispered to Jowan as she sat down beside him, swiping an apple from his plate. "Ouch! No need to leave a mark!" she admonished, rubbing her arm where two pinch marks were appearing in a snappy shade of pink.

"Your dream is my nightmare," Morrigan remarked, her voice aloof with a touch of winter storm.

"Why thank you, Morrigan. That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

Of course, her euphoria wasn't destined to last. Arl Eamon the Arse entered the tavern and the entire place became still. Even Joss felt somewhat intimidated, which raised her hackles. If she could stand up to a teyrn, she wasn't going to be afraid of the old duffer shooting ice-coated arrows from his eyes. Not that she'd actually stood up to Teyrn Loghain, but she had shot him with a nice bolt of lightning and she was going to annihilate him at the landsmeet, so she might as well practice on the riffraff.

"Arl Eamon, we were just discussing how absolutely ecstatic Teagan and I are. Won't you join us?" Joss gushed, raising a mug of tea in an informal salute. _Go ahead, you old reprobate, make my day. Say something I can legitimately zap you for_. Of course he didn't, the bastard. At least not in front of everyone.

The man's eyes, not nearly as warm a blue as Teagan's, narrowed and he stiffened, but not in a good way. Joss tossed him a cheeky grin and continued, "The poor dear is knackered after last night's activities, so if you've come to see him, I'm afraid it will have to wait."

A titter, a chuckle and a snort of laughter came from various companions as the arl's face paled to a parchment shade of white. "A word," came his strangled reply, his eyes cutting into her like finely honed swords. She only then noticed that his eyes were more grey than blue, and as cold as a lamppost in winter.

"Alone, if you please," he added when both Zev and Fergus rose.

Joss rose, smoothing her robes over her hips with an impudent smile. She made her way into a back storeroom and turned around to face a very agitated arl. Maker, she hoped Teagan would age better than his older brother. But they looked nothing alike and it was obvious Teagan had inherited all the charm and good looks in the family. Eamon looked as if he'd spent most of his life constipated because he was too proud to get help for the condition, which was odd, really, since the evening before he'd looked the exact opposite of that.

"Here I am," she said finally, spreading her hands.

"You've bewitched him with your magic, haven't you? You're a sorceress, a black magic woman. Don't deny it, I've heard the stories. And don't think that your marriage will last, young woman. I'll have it annulled as soon as this Blight business is over."

Joss counted to ten, and, when that wasn't enough, she added another thirty, just to be safe. Why had she promised Teagan she wouldn't cast any spells on his brother? Oh right, she was an idiot! She mentally smacked her forehead and then smiled thinly at the _noble_ before her.

"Get in line behind the Archdemon, all his minions, the Witch of the Wilds, Teyrn Loghain and who knows who else. With that list, you can't possibly think I'm afraid of anything you might threaten me with."

Joss was very proud of herself because her desire was to turn the man into a bearded toad and toss him into Lake Calenhad to see just how well the old geezer could swim in frog form.

"Now, let me share my thoughts on _your_ marriage, since we're sharing our feelings. You have your wife terrified that you'll find someone else since the only child she's produced is a mage. In fact, she was so afraid of being cast aside that she allowed the slaughter of most of your servants and a large number of the villagers.

"Now, I'm not entirely sure why she's terrified of losing you; Maker knows _I _wouldn't be, but she is. She's much better looking than you are, and, if one can overlook her shrill voice, she has a lot to offer. Once, that is, she stops being a frightened, clingy woman.

"And don't get me started on Connor. The boy is bright and curious and eager, but he's so ashamed of what he is that he is a beacon for every demon out there. You have no idea how close you came to losing him through your own arrogance. Your poor wife has put her heart and soul into her son because she needed to put that affection somewhere.

"Yet here you are, worried about _Teagan's_ marriage?"

_Very nice, Joss, except for that squeaky high note at the end_. _Why, thank you, Joss. Kind of you to notice._ She wondered if patting herself on the back would be considered rude and then pushed back her sleeves instead, in preparation of a sparring match. She ignored the fact that her hands were shaking. He didn't need to know that.

Before Eamon could respond, Teagan stepped into the room. "Good morning, _Wife_," he said, sliding an arm around her waist.

"Good morning, Teagan. We were just talking about you. Eamon was saying how happy he is for us."

"My dear, you are the worst liar imaginable," Teagan scolded her, adding a smile at the end.

"As far as you know. Maybe it's an act to make you think I can't lie so when I do lie to you, you won't know it's a lie because you think I can't lie."

Teagan chuckled. "I don't wish to alarm you, my dear Lady Josslyn, but I actually understood that."

"Then my work here is done. Was there anything else you wanted to say, Arl Eamon?" she asked sweetly.

Stone-faced, the arl responded with a wintery blast. "We depart for Denerim in two days. It will take several weeks for all of Ferelden's nobility to arrive, which will give us time to prepare. You are all welcome to stay at our estate in Denerim."

Yes, about as welcome as a skunk in a tent, Joss thought, about to tell him she'd rather sleep in a pot of boiling water than spend any time under his roof. Teagan spoke up before she had a chance, his voice smooth and polished, and hinting at humor barely held in check.

"That won't be necessary, Eamon. We'll be staying at my townhouse. I'm sure they've had time to repair the damage."

Eamon's shaggy grey brow rose like a furry caterpillar. "What damage, Brother?"

Joss tried to bite back the laughter but failed. Miserably. "The drapes were a bit of a mess, as was the carpet., I'll admit, and mostly my fault. However, in my defense, I'm not the one who left the marks in the hea…never mind. We can discuss that later," she finished, seeing a slow, puce wash of color heading for Eamon's face.

Now that her work truly was done, she linked arms with her husband and sailed from the room. And tripped on the hem of her robe, nearly pitching face first into the taproom. She was relieved to discover that Eamon had remained behind and thus had missed her graceful departure.

"Ah, that reminds me," Zev said, snapping his fingers. He pulled out a coin purse and a folded piece of vellum, making a show of unfolding it, no doubt for her benefit. He cleared his throat. "The winner is Alistair! Well done, my handsome Chantry Boy."

A wave of laughter filled the room at his pronouncement. "Just what is this all about?" Joss asked, suspicion blooming in her like a wildflower in spring.

"Ah, my dear Warden, I am not at liberty to say," Zev answered with a saucy grin. "But perhaps, should you wish to torture the information from me?"

"Why, Zevran, I would be thrilled to torture you. Or, you know, not. Seriously, what's going on?"

"Oh! Alistair! Congratulations on winning the bet!" Sister Prattles and Rattles chirped from her perch by the fire.

"A bet? And you didn't let me in on it? I'm hurt. Truly. And very curious about it, since I assume it has something to do with me?"

"As you wish, Commander," Cathair spoke up, grinning. "A number of us bet on whether you would trip during your ceremony last night, and, if so, when it would be. Alistair was the only one who bet you wouldn't trip."

Hands on hips, Joss glared at each person in the room, noting several sheepish expressions, but she couldn't keep her smile from popping back onto her lips. She was disgustingly happy. It had to stop.

"Alistair, I see our ruse worked. I'll take my share," she announced calmly, expecting Alistair to stare at her in confusion, or blurt out that he hadn't the vaguest idea what she was talking about. To her surprise he did neither.

"Of course, since it was your idea," he agreed, grinning.

There was a sudden babble of voices and Joss laughed, holding her hand out for her share. Even Zev seemed taken in by her story, and she winked surreptitiously at her cohort in crime.

"I would never wish to impugn the rectitude of my beloved wife's words, but I do believe she's prevaricating."

"And _I _do believe I abhor the verity of my ardor for you, my lord, Bann Teagan," she responded with great dignity, tilting her head regally at him. And sent a small jolt of electricity into his nicely-formed backside.

Laughter once again filled the room and Joss settled beside her husband as the group began to plan their next move.

"The first thing I need to do is find out what's wrong with Styx," Joss said, looking around for her mabari.

"He's down at Owen's place, hanging around the forge," Randal offered.

As Joss made her way down the dirt path to the forge, she wondered just how exactly she was supposed to find out what was wrong with her dog. It wasn't as if they could sit down over a cup of tea and have a nice chin-wag about whatever it was that ailed him. For one thing, dogs didn't appear to have chins.

Styx was curled up, snout on his front paws, staring morosely at…what _was_ he staring at? Joss turned to look in the direction of his stare and saw only a few children playing and a woman pruning flowers.

"What is it, Styx?" Joss asked, sinking down beside him. "You can tell me," she encouraged. _Right, and if he talks now they'll have to pry me out of that tree._

He had changed when he'd run off and found that amulet, right after they 'killed' Flemeth. He'd been gone overnight and, when he'd returned, he'd been scratched and singed and _different._ Why?

Then there was the demon-killing thing. He'd killed the demon inhabiting the cat, in Honnleath, before she'd had time to even plan how to do it. He seemed to be wary of Wynne and her spirit, if a dog _could_ be wary, and Joss reckoned they could be. Why would a dog attack demons and how would he know a demon was nearby?

He'd been particularly angry when she'd returned from the Deep Roads and she'd assumed he was just mad because he'd been left behind, and jealous about the baby. Had he sensed she was pregnant before she had? Was he afraid that she'd leave him? That seemed so ridiculous that she blushed for even thinking it.

"Come on, Styx, tell me what's going on in that furry brain of yours."

"'Tis foolish in the extreme to expect a mangy beast to hold an intelligent conversation," Morrigan remarked, coming to stand beside Joss.

"Well, _you're_ an animal, see if you can make sense of his odd behavior."

Morrigan's huff of offended sensibilities let Joss know exactly how the young witch felt about her statement, but didn't bring them any closer to solving the mystery. She felt Morrigan's magic stir and release around her and, when she looked at the dark-haired woman, it was to see a wolf with golden eyes.

"My, what a glossy coat you have," Joss said, grinning.

A low growl came from the wolf, which made Styx growl in response, which in turn made Joss's hair stand on end and wave at passers-by. Styx barked, the wolf howled and a crowd formed around them.

"Erm…perhaps we should move this to a less conspicuous place. Right across from the chantry is probably not it. The silly Chantry takes a dim view on ancient forbidden magics."

Morrigan ran off and Styx followed, leaving Joss, quite literally, in the dirt. She stood and brushed off her robes.

"What evil magic is that?" the flower-pruner asked in a shaking voice.

"Magic? What magic?" Joss asked innocently, giving the woman a polite smile, wishing fervently that she could whistle.

She'd never mastered the art of whistling and it seemed unlikely she ever would. Even Teagan, the most patient man in Thedas, had been unable to teach her. He'd been surprised when she asked for a lesson. His reply made her smile every time she thought of it. _"You know how to whistle, don't you, Joss? You just put your lips together and... blow." _Of course, that had led to a night of doing everything _except_ learning to whistle.

"You helped save our village and many of us are grateful, but we don't like blasphemers tainting the minds of our young ones," the woman said, her voice tired and frightened.

Oh yay…it had been months, or at least weeks, since anyone had called her that. She frowned. "Do you really want to rile a mage?" she asked quietly, flexing her fingers.

"Joss, there you are, my dear. Mistress Marsha, a pleasure," Teagan said affably, taking Josslyn's arm. He glanced only briefly at her before fastening his gaze on the other woman.

"Bann Teagan, it's a real pleasure to see you again. I've told you there's no need to be so formal with us, now you've saved the whole of the village. We're that grateful to you. Please, call me Marsha," the woman said coyly.

_Poor Teagan, the burden of being sexy and handsome and gallant must weigh greatly on him._ Joss hid her snicker behind her hand as she waited for her husband – and that gave her an odd jolt in her nether regions – to put the woman in her place.

Teagan's smile took on just a tinge of frost. "Marsha, Marsha, Marsha," he began, his voice polite with a hint of disappointment. "As I have explained a number of times, my wife, Lady Josslyn, is responsible for saving Redcliffe, not I."

"Yes, Bann Teagan, I understand you're that much a gentleman that you'd refuse to accept the credit, but we know, those of us who are true believers."

Joss's hackles rose and she knew just how Styx felt when his fur rose and his growl deepened. "True believers?" Joss asked, making clear she was not a True Believer, but Teagan broke in before she could continue.

"I suggest, Marsha, that you go back to your husband, Brady, and your bunch of children, and leave your prejudices behind. The Maker surely wouldn't want His children to disdain one of His most powerful and perfect creations," her husband, and hero, said with a cordiality that was patently false.

The woman, now the color of a sun-kissed and vine-ripened tomato, turned and scurried to her house, the door shutting behind her with a loud bang. "Why Teagan, you mean, mean man," Joss applauded.

Looking pleased and faintly shocked, Teagan waved a hand at her. "I don't know whether to thank you or go to the chantry and pray. However, the old biddy had it coming. You may be a blasphemer, but you're _my_ blasphemer and I'll not have your reputation sullied by anyone."

"My champion," she sighed, gently squeezing the hand that rested on her arm. "Now, to find Morrigan the Wonder Wolf and Styx."

"Shall I accompany you?"

Joss shook her head. "I want you to talk to Zev. I need to go into the Fade and find out what's going on with Loghain and reconnoiter Howe's Fadescape."

"Well, that was a very short honeymoon," Teagan sighed, his resignation obvious.

"It isn't over, at least not unless something bad happens while I'm in the Fade. Besides, don't tell me you haven't fantasized about Zev joining us," she teased, kissing his suddenly warm cheek. She moved to blow a gentle breath against his ear. "Ah ha, I'm right!" she added triumphantly, and met his eyes, now heavy-lidded with desire. Her heart did an impression of an acrobat as her stomach dipped. "Go, before I forget what I'm doing. Or my name, come to think of it," she added, allowing herself the luxury of watching him walk up the hill to the tavern.

Styx and Morrigan, who was no longer in wolf form, were down by the lake, a place that Joss had hoped to avoid this visit, but she found her legs dangling over the water as she sat on the dock, listening to Morrigan as the witch explained her theory. Apparently, talking to Styx in wolf form had provided clues and hints, but no real answers. What were the odds?

As Joss listened to Morrigan, she felt her mouth fall open and she shuddered. "Ewww, are you sure about this?"

Morrigan, her lip curled in disdain, replied, "Why do you insist on questioning me? I am quite sure. It is very like Mother to use this filthy creature for such a thing."

"Wait, can't I just go into the Fade and shoo the demon out?"

Morrigan rolled her eyes in the universal sign of impatience. "'Tis no demon as you are used to dealing with them, Josslyn. 'Tis a remnant of the soul housed in the amulet."

"So, the remnant of the soul, which is _similar_ to a demon, is living inside Styx and not at all happy with me because I threw away her only chance to be re-animated? Is that the gist of it?"

She inched away from Styx, who was once again looking morosely into the distance. "So how did it get there?"

"I believe Mother had a hand in it. She would want someone watching us closely while she was away –"

Joss interrupted the witch. "Away? She's dead, not on vacation." Oh lovely, what a perfect note of hysteria in her voice, making it quaver ever so much. And Styx had been ferocious in protecting Joss when they fought Flemeth. Or so she had thought. A shudder went racing along her spine.

"Not dead, merely not in corporeal form."

Only Morrigan could use the phrase 'corporeal form' and not be laughed at. In fact, Joss had decided laughing was the last thing she felt like doing. "So that's why Styx was so quick to kill demons? He - or is it she – was afraid the demon would become aware of it and do what, exactly?"

"Visit you in the Fade, perhaps? It is possible that should this flea-ridden beast be possessed of a demon it would destroy the essence."

"So essences and demons don't get along. Great, I'll add that to the book I'm writing: _How To Succeed in Blights Without Really Trying_," Joss responded dryly. "Mixing essences and demons is bad…very, very bad."

"If you insist on resorting to puerile humor, I will take myself off."

Joss sighed again. "Not necessary. I'll be the very soul of propriety, even if it kills me. Just tell me what I need to do."

"'Twould be foolish to discuss a plan in front of the creature," Morrigan replied coolly.

Well, that was true. She stood up on legs that were not nearly as strong as they had been when she'd sat down. She blamed the fact that they were shaking.

"Come, Josslyn. I have a plan. A scheme, you see."

Why did Joss feel a dark shadow of foreboding envelop them at that? She glanced around and realized a cloud had passed in front of the sun and took a breath of relief. Which turned in to a panicked gust of terror when Morrigan explained what she would need to do.

Apparently she was going to perform an exorcism in the Fade. A dog exorcism. Andraste's saggy arse! Could one, single thing be easy? Just once?

Apparently not.


	45. Chapter 45

**A/N: **_Thank you, Lisa, for the quick beta, especially after a very tiring day! And thanks for the quote from The Exorcist!_  
_Thanks to all of you who are reading, reviewing and lurking! I appreciate it very much. _

**Blasphemers, Schemers and Dreamers**

**- Part Two –**

"There is no way I'm chanting that!" Joss protested, staring at Sister Drool and Dribble as if the woman had lost her mind. Of course, that would presume she actually had a mind to lose, which Joss sincerely doubted.

"But I have read of this, Josslyn, it is what the Chantry teaches!" the mentally unbuttoned lay-sister exclaimed, blue eyes opened wide, mouth forming a perfect _O_.

"The power of Andraste compels you?" Joss snorted in derision. "You think demons and the like have even a scintilla of interest in what Andraste compels them to do? You're even barm -"

"People skills!" Alistair, Elissa and several others shouted in unison.

She was fairly sure she even heard Jowan's voice in the mix. They were right, of course. It wasn't Leliana the Loopy's fault she was...well...loopy. Joss sighed and patted the red-head on the hand. "Sorry, Sister Leliana, I'm a bit tired."

Leliana, the hurt turning to concern so quickly Joss blinked, smiled a beatific smile, nodding her head in forgiveness. _So help me, if she blesses me now I'll send her hopping to the chantry in search of an exorcism of her own_. The thought never left the confines of her mind as she slipped the talisman of Andraste into her pocket.

Of course, it was only natural that everyone had advice for her exorcism and trip into the Fade; frustrating, but understandable. Everyone, that is, except Teagan, who simply didn't want her to go at all. Not that he wanted Styx to be possessed, he just didn't want his pregnant wife in a place he couldn't go, fighting things he couldn't fight.

She offered to take Bran along because templars had enough lyrium in their veins - not to mention a hint of magic in them that nobody ever mentioned - to make that feasible. She had often traveled the Fade with templars. She pushed the trips with Aerin Bryant out of her mind. Those days were gone and she was Joss Guerrin, married lady, not Joss Amell, morally corrupt mage. Ah, the good old days. She smiled at her husband and then stood, looking at her Second.

"I want you to keep an eye on Styx, Alistair. If he starts flailing about or his eyes glow or something really odd, you need to..." her voice trailed off, and she suddenly had to blink back tears. Oh Maker's shiny arse, she wasn't going to cry again, was she? Damned pregnancy was going to humiliate her long before the baby arrived.

When her desire to sit on the floor in a puddle of tears had subsided to a mere tickle in her throat, she started to speak again, but Alistair nodded. "I get it, I get it, Joss," in a voice that could only be described as gloomier than a dark and stormy night. Come to think of it, it _was_ a dark and stormy night. She groaned at that.

"Do not let Mother intimidate you. She would have you believe she is undefeatable, but 'tis merely her conceit speaking."

Having Morrigan reassure her wasn't scary in the least, no ser, not at all. Oh wait, yes it was! "I'll try to remember while I'm running from her in terror," Joss replied, trying to grin.

"Everyone know what they're supposed to do?"

"Absolutely, my lovely Warden. I shall be in your bedchamber entertaining myself with your husband while you sleep. Such a gift you have given me. I am humbled, I assure you," Zev stated in a voice that was anything _but_ humbled.

Joss eyed him with a raised brow. "If you two become so busy with each other that you forget where I am, or why I'm there, I'll be sure to make you suffer. Horribly."

Zev raised a sleek, golden brow. "Ah, such idle threats, my dear Temptress. As delightful as that sounds, without you, there can be no pleasure."

"And I assure you, Lady Josslyn, he won't be _that_ busy. We have plans for later tonight," Fergus chimed in with a boyish grin. There was no mistaking his intent and even Alistair understood the meaning, blushing like a virgin.

Oh, right, he was a virgin, wasn't he? Joss's eyes slid to Elissa, who was smiling at the scene, not in the least embarrassed by the discussion. Joss decided it was time for another S – E – X talk with Alistair when she returned from the Fade. Or she would visit him there in the form of...no, best not do that. Using the Fade for that kind of thing would only get her into trouble. Like she needed more of that.

"Ready, my dear?" Teagan asked, so solicitous that Joss had a moment of panic, sure that he knew something about her impending doom that she didn't.

"As ready as I can be going into the Fade to perform a rite I've never performed on a thing I've never seen with absolutely no idea of the outcome or consequences. What could possibly go wrong?"

"Nothing," Teagan assured her. Or maybe he was reassuring himself, because she wasn't all that reassured.

"Absolutely right. And Alistair, if something happens, you know what to do," she added, heading upstairs.

"Run around shrieking like a scared little girl?" Jowan snickered.

"Will not."

"Will too."

"Will. Not."

"Will. Too."

"Won't."

"Will."

"Won't!"

"By all that is holy, do not say another word!"

The silence was complete as all eyes focused on Leliana of the Benighted Bedlamites, who stood up, arms folded and face pink from her outburst. A color that did not go well with red hair, and seemed completely out of character for a lay-sister who had, by her own reckoning, defrocked a dozen brothers of the chantry. Which proved, Joss's jumbled thoughts concluded, that the lay-sister _had_ taken the title seriously.

"Won't," Alistair whispered stridently, as Joss continued on her way up the stairs.

"Maker, those two must have been separated at birth," she sighed.

Sleep was as elusive as a chaste mage. It seemed like hours before she drifted off. Teagan stayed by her side, stroking her brow until she finally found the Fade. Once there, she immediately wanted to return because there was an ominous quiet; not even the constant murmur of a thousand demons demanding attention broke the stillness. Hair that preferred lying down on her arms stood up straight, surrounded by goosebumps.

"If you think this scares me, old woman, you are as barmy as our batty lay-sister," Joss said loudly. Or would have if her throat hadn't been paralyzed by nerves. Not that she minded how husky it was, it just didn't sound very confident.

Naturally, the old woman didn't speak up. The bitch. Joss sighed and began to cast a spell. A blue light formed around her and then began to drift away from her, hugging the ground like a jealous lover. Joss took a deep breath and urged her feet forward. They refused.

"Come on, one foot in front of the other. We can do this," she instructed her recalcitrant feet. "Don't stop believing." If her feet had answered, she'd have run screaming for the nearest exit, but they begin to obey her commands.

She quietly recited the spells she needed for the hound exorcism. A chuckle escaped her, and then another, as she followed the blue mist to Styx's Fadescape. If she wasn't careful, she'd be sitting in the middle of the Fade, laughing hysterically. That wasn't a happy thought. At. All.

The ritual she was to perform, the reasons for it, were on the wrong side of sane, and it seemed Arse Eamon was right, after all. She _was_ a black magic woman. If that wasn't a chunk of irony, she didn't know what was. Another giggle bubbled up, floated out, only to fall in the silence. Maker, all was lost. She was actually giggling.

The blue mist ended in a large meadow, filled with spring flowers and butterflies, under the benevolent smile of a bright sun. Styx, much younger and without the attitude, was cavorting with a young girl wearing messy braids and a torn frock, who looked vaguely familiar. She realized it was her, as a child, knobby knees and all.

"Sweet dreams are made of this," a low, musical voice intoned. A thin wisp detached itself from Styx to float in her direction. Nothing creepy about that. At. All. Joss took several steps away from the approaching emanation.

"Who am I to disagree?" she asked, impressed with how calm her voice was, because the rest of her certainly wasn't.

"You have come to parley?" the voice asked, a note of hope in it that was nearly drowned out by the skepticism.

The hair on Joss's arms was no longer content to stand and surround itself with goosebumps, now threatening to abandon her like sailors on a sinking ship. Which was an image she could have done without. She rubbed her arms, looking around for the owner of the voice.

"Jezebelle?" she asked once her eyes discovered the source, her voice shaking enough to cause a tremor in the Fadescape. So much for calm, she thought, but who could blame her? The wisp had taken form, and the form was very familiar.

Before her stood a young woman with the same raven locks as Morrigan, but without Morrigan's warmth, which was saying a fair bit about the woman before her. Jezebelle and Morrigan could have been sisters. Oh, right, they _were_ sisters, or at least half-sisters.

Golden eyes narrowed. "Time after time, I've told Mother you would come for me. 'Twould seem I was right."

"Don't stop believing. You never know when the _Grande Dame_ will start listening to her children."

The woman moved away from Styx, who continued chasing butterflies as if his life depended on it and _that_ was another thought Joss wished away in a hurry. She watched the woman advance, wary and cautious as she prepared a spell.

"Wait! You must know if you kill me, this creature will no longer be the same!" Jezebelle cautioned.

"That's a risk I'm willing to take if it gets you out of him."

"I hear voices from beyond the Veil, they reverberate in mystery. They are shadows in my heart."

Well, nothing insane about that. At. All. "Well, these are the times, aren't they? What do the voices tell you? I mean besides the fact that you're dead?"

The woman laughed, but not in a pleasant way. In fact, Joss's feet wanted to go for a run around the Fade, away from the dead lady with the golden eyes and a demented being for a mother.

"She's brilliant, you know. Every little thing she does is magic," the essence whispered, as if reading Joss's mind.

"Seriously? She seems like any other ordinary lunatic. Every crazy person I've ever met has wanted to rule the world. She's no different." Come on, wispy lunatic, come closer to me, away from Styx, Joss silently urged.

"She's like the wind," Jezebelle continue, her voice cloying.

"She's a maniac. A _maniac_," Joss added for emphasis.

The woman raised her hands as if to cast a spell and it gave Josslyn the opening she needed. The cold spell, fueled by adrenaline and fear, left her finger tips and hovered in the air before hitting the wispy Morrigan look-alike dead on. Joss sighed. Rather than freezing Jezebelle's feet in place and leaving the rest of her free, Joss's spell had encased her in a thick coating of ice.

Styx growled and came loping towards her, teeth bared. _Oh boy, killed in the Fade by my own dog! What could be better? Oh right, a million other things! _She opened her mouth to recite the Rite of Exorcism, as Morrigan had instructed, hoping she wouldn't laugh when she did. And promptly forgot it.

Searching frantically for anything that might help, she said, "The power of Andraste compels you! The power of Andraste compels you!" several times but only heard faint, cold laughter though the ice.

No, no, what was it? She took a deep breath, wondering where her brain had gone and commanding it to return. Quickly. Another deep breath. Oh right, there it was. She closed her eyes and raised her hands, creating flickering arcs of fire in the air with her fingers. No doubt every demon within hearing distance will be laughing their demony heads off, she thought as she began to chant the exorcism rite.

"I am the Raven, goo goo g'joob. Let it be. Whisper words of wisdom, let it be. A blackbird singing in the dead of night commands you to get back to where you once belonged. Obladi, Oblada, life goes on. Without you. Quoth the Raven, evermore."

There was an explosion, and a shower of ice shards. Joss went tumbling back, landing on her rear-end with a thump. Styx came bounding towards her, barking like a mad dog; another thought she wished she hadn't had. He launched himself at her and she squeezed her eyes shut, wondering desperately if she knew a prayer, _any_ prayer, that would save her mortal soul. Oh yes, there was one!

"Shit! Shit, shit, shit and shit!" she shouted as he skidded to a stop and began to lick her face with his rough tongue. Oh Maker's brass balls, was he was going to lick her to death? She was laughing - some would say hysterically – and trying to push the overgrown puppy away.

"Next time some essence or demon wants to inhabit your body: Just. Say. No."

A loud bark of approval and then the meadow and flowers disappeared, leaving her in the raw Fade. Andraste's fat fingers, she hoped he'd disappeared because he'd awoken, and not because Alistair had decided the dog needed to meet the Maker up close and personal.

Standing, she rubbed her arms, pretending to be confident. It almost fooled her into believing it. She took several deep breaths, waiting for her heart to climb down out of her mouth and settle back in her chest. It seemed particularly unwilling.

"Such a clever child, my Morrigan. And why not? I taught her everything she knows."

"Not everything, obviously, you..." Joss swallowed her retort and slapped a grin on her face. So what if it wobbled a bit? At least she'd managed one.

"Brave words from a little girl lost."

"Little girl? Really? That's the best you can do?" Oh, lovely, Joss, why not tweak the old biddy's nose while you're at it?

Luckily, Flemeth ignored her for the moment. "I will miss Jezebelle. She was such a warm, loving girl."

The air around Joss shimmered and she blinked, standing in the Korcari Wilds. "She has a cold, hard heart now," she replied, unable to repress a snicker.

Flemeth let out a shout of laughter. "You're getting more powerful. In fact, you're almost interesting now. We would be formidable allies," she offered, arms held wide. "You really ought to join me here."

They stood, staring at each other. "So, what is it you want, exactly?" Joss asked bluntly. She obviously had a death wish. Why else would she antagonize a...just _what _was Flemeth? Her mind fumbled to find an answer, but none was forthcoming.

"What do I want? Hmm, such an easy question to answer. All I want is everything."

"Oh, is that all? I hate to be the bringer of bad news, but that isn't going to happen. You have to know that."

"My dear, you underestimate me if you believe that. I am patient. I can afford to be," the witch replied slyly. "Give my offer some thought. You'll be glad you did, especially now."

What, in the name of Andraste's arse, did that mean? Joss waited for the cackling laugh and when it didn't manifest, she blinked, realizing she was alone in the Fade for the moment. "She _is _like the wind," Joss muttered wryly.

"And a maniac," came the disembodied voice of Flemeth. "Isn't that what you said?"

"Well, sure, that's a given."

Eerie laughter echoed and died away, leaving Joss once more in the raw Fade, with goosebumps sitting on top of goosebumps. "Maker's hind tit, I hate when you do that," she grumbled, half expecting to have the old woman reappear.

When she was sure she was alone, or at least _appeared_ to be alone, she cast a spell, watching the trail of blue mist snake to the east. Or was it the west? She supposed it didn't matter, really. She set off in the direction it led her, wondering just how to approach Loghain.

She entered his place in the Fade to find herself standing in a carefully cultivated field. Rows of something sporting green tops stretched in every direction. Loghain, leaning on a hoe, was wiping the sweat off his brow, unaware of her. So, he was what? A farmer? Growing what? She picked her way towards him, mindful of the...whatever was growing in such fastidiously and meticulously maintained rows. That spoke of a mind far too organized and rigid, and reminded her of Owain before he became tranquil. A genius? Or a madman? Or both?

Taking a deep breath, she plunged in. "Good day, ser. I seem to be lost. Do you know the way to Denerim?"

The man turned and glared at her. "I do."

Oh, lovely. The most reticent and taciturn man in Thedas stood before her, blue eyes as cold as Jezebelle had been just before she'd exploded. "Well don't keep me guessing," she snapped. Great, what a wonderful way to make friends and gain trust. Or, you know, not.

"You are very far south to be heading to Denerim. Why do you travel there? Fancy Maric, do you?" he asked, voice oozing equal parts suspicion and contempt.

"What? Don't be an idiot! The king's been d...erm...I mean, no, not at all. I'm on my way there to warn of the coming Blight."

"Did the Grey Wardens send you? Those Orlesian spies!"

Well this wasn't going well. "You think the Grey Wardens are Orlesian spies? Why would you think that?"

"That's none of your business, girl. Wait, you look familiar. Have I seen you at the Landsmeet?"

Joss snorted. "No, you haven't. Maybe you've met my father. I've been told I look like him."

"Why would I have met your father? Is he a noble? A military man? Speak up, girl," he ordered.

Without thinking, she saluted him, and not in a nice way. Loghain's black brow rose and his eyes widened in surprise before settling back into a frown. What a crotchety old bastard. Yet oddly attractive. Wait, what had he asked? Oh, right.

"He was a...a farmer!" she lied, glaring at him. Maker's mixed nuts, Loghain needed a good jolt of lightning up his arse.

"Oh? What does he grow?"

Joss gulped. What did he grow? Andraste's hairy chin! How did she know? She groped around her mostly blank mind and tossed out the first thing that came to mind. "Rye."

"Yes, I think I remember him, now. Tall fellow with hair the same shade of red as your – Ouch! How dare you! Wait, you're a mage!" he accused, rubbing his backside.

"It's not red, you cretin! And if the next words out of your mouth are that I am smarter than I look, you'll wake up croaking and craving flies!"

Good, this was going just as planned. Or not. She smiled at the look of astonishment Loghain wore, his mouth just ever so slightly agape. Ah, yes, she could see it now, the greatest tactician in the history of Ferelden. At least that's what the biography had stated. In fact, that was the title of the biography, unauthorized, of course.

"And I remember you, now. You're Duncan's newest recruit, the one who was supposed to light the beacon and failed miserably."

"Or you left early, take your pick."

Still rubbing his backside, he asked, "What do you want? Come to tell me the Blight is upon us? I will defeat this threat to Ferelden, as I have done in the past."

"Yes, about that. I think there are a few things you need to know."

Loghain's eyes focused on her, and she was sure he was assessing her, weighing his options. She was shocked to discover she was tapping her foot impatiently. She obviously had a death wish. He was one menacing looking man.

"Hurry and decide if you're going to be smart and listen for a change, or if your pride will continue to doom Ferelden," she instructed angrily. Really, time was short and he was eating it up with his paranoia. She waited for him to knock her senseless, trying her damnedest not to cower.

He gave a decisive nod. "Very well, come up to the house," he ordered, picking his way through the crops.

"What are you growing so meticulously?" she asked out of curiosity and a desire to turn his attention away from harming her. She stepped daintily between rows, or as daintily as she could. At least she hadn't tripped. Yet.

"Turnips, so please walk on your toes to avoid crushing the turnip greens. They make an excellent meal on their own."

"I'm sorry, what? You want me to tiptoe through the turnips?" she asked, trying valiantly to stifle her laughter.

"You have a peculiar sense of humor," he commented, frowning.

"You're not the first to tell me that, believe it or not."

"I am hardly surprised," came his sardonic reply. He really was begging for another jolt.

The house was actually a small cottage with a roughly hewn table and chairs and not much else. She sat down and stared at the Hero of River Dane. "You need to believe this, if you believe nothing else. Only a Grey Warden can slay the Archdemon. For some reason I have yet to fathom, the Wardens keep that bit a secret instead of warning their host nations why they are needed. Only an idiot hides a secret like that."

"Or someone who relishes power. But how do I know you're telling the truth? Why tell me?" Oh no, Loghain, you're not the least bit paranoid. Oh wait! Yes, you are!

"Do I strike you as the type who would willingly sacrifice herself to save a nation?"

He studied her intently and his look told her she was clearly lacking any redeeming qualities, which made her want to smack him with another bolt of lightning, but she forced herself to meet his gaze.

"No, you do not, although experience has taught me they are generally the ones who die doing just that."

"Thank you so much for that cheerful thought."

He raised a dark brow at that, and waited for her to continue. She didn't keep him waiting. "No matter what else you decide, call off the assassins. Unless, of course, they are as talented and clever as Zevran, then feel free. He's contributed greatly to our success in raising an army. And trust me, we have a large army, with enough mages to fry the lot of you."

He blinked. Just once. But it was enough. She hoped her gloating wasn't too obnoxious. Ah, who was she kidding, she hoped it got right under his skin and made it itch.

"Why have you waited until now to tell me this?" he glowered.

"It isn't as if you've been all that welcoming. Also, Flemeth has been blocking your Fade from me for months. I'm really surprised I was able to manage now. Hmmm, that is definitely odd, not to mention a bit of a worry. I expected a fight."

Loghain paled at the mention of Flemeth. "What does Flemeth have to do with any of this?"

"More than you want to know. She doesn't want Ferelden to fall to the Blight, but she's willing for that to happen if it means you fall from grace. You two must not be bosom buddies.

"Now, do as I say, and maybe we can save Ferelden from your paranoia and arrogance, and my ignorance of all things military."

He leaned forward. "I'm listening, but I make no promises."

Joss rolled her eyes and proceeded to give him the abbreviated version of her travels, as well as her knowledge of the Grey Wardens, Blights, the Archdemon and who she was traveling with. She loved his expression when she told him she and Teagan were married. He looked as if he'd swallowed a worm. She did not, however, mention the bit about Fergus and Elissa Cousland surviving, or that they were going to challenge the throne. He already looked as if his head was going to explode.

"I'm not saying that the Orlesian Wardens aren't in league with Empress Celene. They didn't even try to cross the border and help us, which only goes to show that whole being brothers and sisters pitch of theirs is a just a load of poppycock."

"Hardly surprising. I was wise to close our borders," he proclaimed with an arrogant tilt of his head. Joss wondered what he'd do if she leaned forward and yanked his braids, because the Maker knew she wanted to. Badly.

"Right, Ser Suspicious. You keep telling yourself that if it helps. That's why the southern part of Ferelden is overrun with darkspawn. Pig-headed, prideful man!" _Way to influence people, Joss! Great job!_

"You are in need of a sound thrashing, girl," he responded coldly.

"And you are in need of a swift kick on the arse, but we don't have the time. Stand with us at the Landsmeet. Pull the nation together and get rid of Howe. He is the one working with a foreign power. Tevinter, I think. Discredit him, and distance yourself quickly.

"Now, remember this dream and trust in what I've said. This is your new truth. Do you understand?"

"Do not think to use a honeyed voice to persuade me," he growled, lowering his brows. "What makes you believe Howe is working with the Tevinter Imperium?"

"The documents on your desk. And don't ask how I know about them, because I'm not telling. I'll bet that Howe has someone translating them, doesn't he? I'll bet he hasn't mentioned that they bear the seal of the Imperial Archon, has he?"

She almost felt sorry for the man, he looked astounded. "I'll also expect a formal apology at the Landsmeet for the aspersions you cast on both my looks and my intelligence," she said without any attempt to hide a grin. This was surprisingly more fun than she had expected it to be.

"I will look into the matter of Howe and it will be raining sovereigns before I apologize to you in front of anyone. Now leave me to my rest."

Imperious, self-righteous, arrogant...he jumped out of his chair, rubbing his backside and banging his head on the low ceiling. Joss grinned. Definitely a win-win situation.

"I'll leave right after you agree to my requests."

"Madam, those were not requests, they were orders and I do not take orders from a mage young enough to be my daughter and as green as a new recruit."

"Seriously? Listen, General-Regent-Hero of River Dane-Farmer Loghain, I'm not giving you the option _to ignore_ my orders."

"You insolent chit."

"Pompous old man."

They wasted several moments glaring at each other. Finally, Joss sighed. "Bollocks. I don't have time for your stubborn pride," she muttered. He arched his brow and glowered some more.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, she leaned forward and began to chant softly. Her voice was low and mellifluous, soothing. A voice she hadn't used in years. Her Fade-shaper's voice. He blinked, struggling against her words and tone, but his eyelids grew heavier and heavier. She repeated the spell over and over until she finally heard the words that meant victory.

"I'll remember this dream and believe what you say," he mumbled sleepily.

"Do. Not. Forget."

She blinked and was gone. If the Chantry ever discovered what she could do, she'd be burned, beheaded and disemboweled before they killed her. She sighed and looked around the bland brown landscape.

"If you're listening, Joey, I'm sorry for breaking my oath, but things are dire. Life or death dire. I'll try really, really hard not to do that again, I promise. Except maybe with Howe. But that's it, I swear." Nothing but the sighing wind blowing across the raw Fade responded. Well, what had she expected?

She sighed and wondered how much time she had before Howe woke and left the Fade. Closing her eyes, she called forth her spell and sent the blue mist out in search of the man. Fog enveloped her, and then formed a trail, but before she could follow it, she was pulled – or tossed – out of the Fade.

Naturally her stomach rebelled. It always did. Luckily Teagan had a pail handy, as well as a cool cloth. At least she hadn't hit his boots this time.

She was surprised to see sunlight streaming through the window.

"I suppose I'll have to apologize to Fergus for monopolizing you all night, Zev," she said when she could speak. She really wished she hadn't bothered. Her voice had gone from low and mellifluous to quivering and raspy.

"Do not burden yourself with such a notion, my dear lady. I shall be happy to make it up to him."

"I really ought to check on Styx. Is he dispossessed...er...unpossessed...hmm...depossessed?"

Teagan smiled. "Alistair assures me that Styx is once again himself...an overgrown puppy."

Joss nodded and closed her eyes. She felt the bed shift and warm arms wrap around her. She really ought to take advantage of the situation. She was, after all, still on her honeymoon. Hopefully Zevran would either show himself out or join them. She was too tired to care which he chose.

She settled her head on Teagan's chest and promptly fell asleep.


	46. Chapter 46

**A/N: _This chapter has_**_ not been beta'd , which means any (and **all**) mistakes belong to me. This should probably come with a "Beware the random comma" alert. ;)_

**Howe's Business?**

A sharp rap on the door brought Joss bolt upright, blinking at the intrusion of an entirely too bright sun. Where was she? What day was it? More importantly, who was the very handsome, very naked, man in her bed? She rubbed at her eyes and looked again. A very trim and firm backside. At least she had good taste, even if she couldn't remember who he was.

"Joss? I've brought breakfast. It's time for our meeting!"

That was an oddly familiar voice, warm and friendly with a hint of hysteria. She knew that voice. She rubbed her eyes again. Had she taken two men…no, her mind was not going there. Now, who was the man on the other side of the door? And, more to the point, who was the man now waking up and smiling at her? She smiled in return, wondering if she was in the Fade or if she'd finally gone round the bend.

"My dear, are you well?" the nude and very attentive man beside her asked solicitously.

"Maybe?" she responded, rubbing at her eyes again. "Do we…did we…who are you, again?"

The man, now looming over her, smiled salaciously, his handsome features shifting and blurring until he wore someone else's face. And a not very handsome someone at that. In fact, it was a cold, hard face with a touch of cruelty and madness in the man's eyes. "You can change back now. You aren't my type in your current incarnation."

The man lowered his body onto hers, pushing the air out of her lungs with his weight, and for the first time since awakening, Joss felt a large dollop of fear hit her stomach. "Get off!" she cried, fighting panic, and doing a poor job of it, as his eyes narrowed menacingly.

And then she laughed. She was in the Fade, of course. There could be no other explanation. She blinked and pushed away from the man, rolling off the bed and falling…falling. Maker's pointy arse, was there no bottom to the abyss? Her laughter trailed after her, and she chose to ignore the hysteria in it. When she hit bottom, she'd wake up. Probably on the floor. And who was the man falling beside her, reaching out to grab at her with hands that resembled talons? Talons? Like a dragon's claws. Dragon?

"You bitch! Get out of my Fade!" Joss yelled, staring at the dragon falling beside her.

"Now, now, dear lady, there's no need for such language," Teagan replied, smiling as they continued to plummet.

"Damn you, Flemeth! Get! Out!"

The ground suddenly appeared beneath her as the figure falling in tandem with her blinked out of existence. She landed with a resounding thump. Flemeth has declared war, whether she knows it or not, Joss thought darkly, just before her piece of the Fade disappeared…

A sharp rap on the door brought Joss bolt upright, blinking at the intrusion of an entirely too bright sun. Where was she? What day was it? More importantly, who was the very handsome, very naked, man in her bed? She rubbed at her eyes and looked again. A very trim and firm backside. At least she had good taste, even if she couldn't remember who he was. _Wait, there's something oddly familiar about all of this_.

"Good morning, my dear."

Oh right, that handsome man was her husband. She grinned at him. "Shall we see how good a morning we can make it?" she invited with a saucy wink. Or maybe it was just a fuzzy blink. She rubbed at her heavy lids.

"Joss? I've brought breakfast. It's time for our meeting!" Alistair sang out, so cheerful it made her teeth ache.

"Alistair, go away! Newly wedded couple here!" she called back, pulling Teagan close.

"But…but I brought you breakfast! I even have marmalade!" he responded in a hurt voice.

"Marmalade?" she asked blankly, before burying her face in the crook of her husband's neck to stop her laughter from escaping as comprehension filtered into her tired brain.

"Yes, I heard you calling out for it last night. Elissa says pregnant women crave odd foods at odd times, so I thought I'd bring some. If you still want it," Alistair added quickly, his voice slightly muffled by the door.

"Can't…s-speak," she whispered against Teagan's warm skin as she shook with laughter.

Teagan's eyes were shining with merriment but his voice was perfectly pitched and cordial when he spoke. "Thank you, Alistair. Give us a moment."

"Oh, right. I'll just…I'll just leave the tray and come back later," Alistair mumbled as Joss tried valiantly to stop laughing.

"Thank you, Alistair. That's most thoughtful of you," Teagan replied and then looked down at Joss. Tilting his head, his lips twitching, he whispered, "Perhaps you should stick with _Maker_, my love."

"Hmmm, I'll consider it. How about Marmalade Maker?"

"Andraste preserve us," Teagan sighed with a tiny shake of his head.

"Just think how handy it will be when I'm in a jam to call out for my Marmalade Maker! It will turn my enemy's knees to jelly at the mere mention of your name. Besides, it just rolls off the tongue and…"

"Speaking of tongues," Teagan interrupted, his smile giving way to a lusty grin. He slowly made his way down her body, his tongue speaking a language all its own. She was more than happy to allow it to do so.

Later, bathed, dressed and diligently eating the marmalade and toast that Alistair had left behind, Joss told Teagan about her dream. He was not happy. At. All.

"So this – this witch is now in your dreams? In the Fade? Can she hurt you? Maker's breath, Joss, how can you treat this so lightly?"

Well, those were all valid and intelligent questions. A shame, really, that she had no intelligent answers other than a shrug. "If she could hurt me in the Fade, she'd have probably done it by now. She's having too much fun toying with me to actually kill me, I think. It's kind of like Poppins pulling the wings off flies."

Teagan's face blanched. "_Who_ doing _what_?"

Joss patted his hand to reassure him. She hoped. "Poppins's a mage, and, at one time, the tower bully who loved to torment other mages, but never really did anything dreadful, just annoying. Although the flies would probably disagree with me on that."

Looking less reassured than she'd hoped he would, Teagan shook his head. "Except this Poppins person is a mage. We have no idea what Flemeth is, or what she is capable of."

Well, she couldn't argue with that. Or she could, but since he was right, it seemed childish in the extreme. Instead she described the man who'd joined her in her freefall. Teagan's face, already pale, became even more so. She now knew what 'deathly pallor' actually looked like and it wasn't pretty.

"You know who it is, don't you?" she accused.

"You've just described the most vicious man in all of Ferelden: Arl Rendon Howe. What is _he_ doing in your dreams?"

How, in the name of the Maker's hind tit, would she know? "You mean the man that killed Fergus and Elissa's family? The one who then took over their teyrnir? That Howe? How did Howe find his way into my dreams?"

Of course! Flemeth the Wicked Witch must have led him there, or maybe she'd been him, or something. Was it a warning? A hint? A cosmic joke? Couldn't the woman just leave a bloody map of where Joss should be going? She grimaced at the thought of a bloody map that led anywhere.

"I want Fergus in on this conversation," Teagan announced with grim determination. "Elissa should be here, as well. We need to put a stop to Howe and his influence with the throne before it's too late."

Well that was reassuring. Oh wait! No it wasn't. She watched him stride from the room and wondered why _their_ Blight couldn't be just an ordinary run-of-the-mill Blight. The others, according to history books, had included an Archdemon, a bunch of darkspawn and a large number of troops and Grey Wardens, including a dead hero. All perfectly straightforward.

The minute she got involved in a Blight, it had to become some bizarre nightmare, complete with the crazy Woman of Many Years, canine possessions and freaks in all sizes, shapes and colors. A normal Blight was all she wanted. Was that so much to hope for?

Fergus and Elissa, along with their respective shadows, crowded into the room. It promised to be a long day and Joss looking longingly at her bed. Yes, indeed…a very long day. She sighed and began to fill them in on her dream, or at least the portion of it that she thought was pertinent, namely that Howe had been there briefly. But she couldn't be sure it was Howe and not just Flemeth playing jokes.

"Well, that's interesting. We wanted Howe to be removed and now there's even more reason for that. He's a sick, vicious, twisted man. I'd give my right arm to kill him but I'm not sure I have that luxury," Fergus said, standing and pacing. Well, sure, why wouldn't the tallest man in the room, the one with the longest legs, want to pace the crowded little bedchamber?

"Why not?" Joss asked, though she suspected she already knew the answer. Nobody liked a king who killed his way to the throne. They may obey such a monarch, but he would not have any real support, only a bunch of terrified nobles. And while Joss liked the idea of terrified nobles, even she understood that was a poor way to run a nation. "What I mean is, don't you have right of kill or some sort of noble redress since he murdered your family?"

"That's a romantic notion, but not a reality. If he has enough support, he can sway the Landsmeet and we could very well be declared traitors."

"What? What kind of sense does that make?" Alistair blustered, jumping to his feet.

Lovely. Now she had two tall, broad men pacing in the crowded room. She gave Zevran a wry smile and he winked. "Come, my fine, strapping friends, sit and discuss this. I think our poor Warden Commander is finding the room too small for such antics. Although, I have heard sounds that indicate it is not too small for _certain_ antics."

Alistair blushed, and Joss almost felt sorry for him, except that there was too much to do to bother. "So, you're saying that any noble can do anything he wants as long as he has the majority of the Landsmeet backing him? What moron set that into law?"

Teagan smiled indulgently. "King Calenhad. He wanted a government that took into account all the feuding nobility and gave them a voice."

"He should have stuck to polishing his enchanted silver armor and making hay with Lady Shayna," Joss retorted. Without thinking, she stood and began pacing the room, hands clasped behind her back as she walked.

"Hey, how come she gets to pace?" Alistair asked, his voice and expression moving past sulky to border on petulant. Or perhaps he'd crossed the border, she decided, looking at him over her shoulder.

"Alistair," Elissa warned quietly, "do you really want to upset a pregnant mage who is capable of haunting your dreams for the rest of your life?"

"Yes, my handsome Warden, do you really wish to croak and hop about?"

Even Joss, now on the opposite side of the small room, heard him gulp. She couldn't help the grin that came right out and sat on her face like it owned the place.

"So, I'll go into the Fade and what? Find him and talk to him? Find out what he's done, how he's done it and who knows the truth? Just go in and talk him into jumping from the top of Ft. Drakon? Talk him into humiliating himself so badly that he loses all credibility? Name it and it shall be done," she finished magnanimously. As if she had that kind of power.

"You are a scary, scary woman," Alistair said in a hushed tone of near-reverence. Or maybe he was still worried about becoming a toad, she couldn't be sure.

"This is too dangerous," Teagan broke in, his voice surprisingly firm and authoritative. "You are at risk each time you enter the Fade on one of these little _jaunts _of yours. You cannot continue to put yourself and our child at risk."

Joss stopped her pacing and turned to look at her husband, frowning. "You didn't mind my trips into the Fade when I visited you," she reminded him.

Silence, the kind that reeks of awkward embarrassment, filled the room. Teagan held her eyes and there was a stubborn set to his jaw that told her he wasn't backing down without a fight. Lovely. Perfect. Just what she wanted to do so soon after the wedding: have a loud fight and probably call him names she didn't mean. No doubt he'd call her names that he _did_ mean, but would regret because he was such a gentleman.

"This might be a good time to adjourn the meeting. We'll finish the discussion later. Erm, if I'm still alive," she added with a grin that wobbled just a tad.

Rustling and shuffling followed her words and then silence returned as she stared at Teagan, who stared right back, blue eyes narrowed, expression not happy. At. All. "You can't keep risking your life by going into the Fade, battling demons, and Flemeth and Maker knows what else, Josslyn. I won't allow it."

She did a double-take, she was sure of it because she felt as though she'd snapped the muscles in her neck. She rubbed at her nape and counted. She reached two-hundred and forty-seven before she trusted herself not to scream like a shrewish old hag. Who knew a few days of marriage could turn one into a virago?

"Teagan," she began, amazed and impressed by how calm her tone was. She stopped and counted again, making it to eighty-six. "I am sure you mean that we should discuss the matter calmly, like two adults, right?"

"Josslyn, I am not going to stand by and let you continue to put yourself in dangerous situations. I am not going to be the silent younger brother again," he said and then blinked in surprise.

"Well, I should hope not, since you're my _husband._ Should I get Eamon? Maybe you two need to talk."

He shook his head before continuing. "I have spent my entire life being the biddable, younger brother. I was the reliable one, the obedient one. I should have taken Alistair in when it became apparent that Isolde was jealous of him. I should have spoken up so many times, Joss, but I didn't. I'd been raised not to."

Well now was a fine time to break out of the mold, Joss thought wryly, keeping that thought firmly tucked into her mind, as much as it wanted to escape and become vocal. Teagan came to clasp her hands, searching her face for something. She gave him a nod of encouragement, hoping that would suffice. It did.

"Would you have me continue to be the biddable one? The dutiful husband now, rather than the biddable brother? The one who allows you to do whatever it is you want to do, follow every whim without regard for your health and safety or that of our children?"

Where had Teagan gone and who was the stranger standing in front of her, pretending to be her husband? And yet, even as she thought that, a part of her was impressed by the strength of his conviction, his newfound confidence, while another part of her was thrumming away, wondering if she could lock the door and rip his clothes off. She guessed that would probably not be the right way to respond. The fun way, perhaps, but not the right way.

And there is was again. Maker's mixed nuts! She was becoming mellow and mawkish. What next? Helping little old ladies with their knitting? Not that she actually knew how to knit, but still. She'd be asking Wynne over for a chin-wag and cup of tea before she knew it.

She glared at her husband. "This is all your fault!" she hissed as a sudden onslaught of tears attacked her eyes.

Damnation! Her emotional swings were making her dizzy. Niall had promised they would pass very soon, but he also admitted she was his first _real_ pregnant patient. Had the others all been false? Pretenders? Only a little pregnant? She rubbed her forehead, trying to concentrate on stopping her tears in order to have a reasonable, adult discussion. As if she ever had any of those.

To his credit, Teagan's expression softened and he handed her a square of linen, waiting patiently while she dried her leaking eyes. "I am quite sure you're correct, my dear, but I insist that we find another way to deal with Howe."

"You…you insist?" she managed. Her desire to cry went the same way as her desire to strip him and have her way with him. A little authority was sexy, too much was…so _not_ sexy.

She was sure she _should_ count, and she did try, but found that her mouth had other ideas. "You can't stop me from entering the Fade, Teagan, any more than you can stop the demons from whispering to me." Oh ho! No amount of derision in that voice. At. All. Oh wait, yes there was.

By the Maker's left nut! A simple, ordinary day. Was that so difficult to manage?.

"Are you so confident in your abilities that you would risk your life? Our child's?"

She blinked. Nodded. Shook her head. Sighed. Shrugged. "I've always been safe in the past. And the few times I've been in any real danger, Brin has been right there to help. He said…oh Andraste's flaming mustache! He said something like_: he'll be all right, don't worry about him._ I thought he was talking about the baby lost, but it wasn't that at all. What an imbecile I am."

Teagan's confusion took the form of a frown. He sank down on the bed and a long, drawn out sigh drifted out of him. "Our baby? He was talking about _our _baby? We're having a boy? How would he know?"

"Because he was always the smart one. He said something at the temple, about the big guy not being happy with him for mentioning the baby and Joseph shut him up rather quickly. I just thought it was a joke, a way of knocking me off balance or something."

Teagan's confusion gave way to a broad smile. "We're having a boy?" he asked, voice and expression full of astonished wonderment.

Joss was finally struck dumb, staring at him with nary a cutting, sarcastic or amusing rejoinder. Of all the things going wrong in their world - in their _universe_ - he chose to focus on the sex of a baby still months and months away?

"Maybe?" she finally mumbled, suddenly feeling unaccountably nervous. He was looking at her as if she was the second coming of Andraste, and she couldn't possibly live up to that kind of worship. Idols on pedestals were an accident waiting to happen. They were one trip-on-their-own-feet away from falling off said pedestal.

"I had hoped…a long time ago…then life just…a boy, you say? That's wonderful news!"

And with those words, he stood, scooped her up in his arms, and kissed her so thoroughly that she forgot what they'd been arguing about. He was adorable in his happiness, and if they'd been able to bottle it and hand it out to their enemies, the darkspawn would be dancing in the street to the sounds of a singing Archdemon.

"Would you be so happy if we were having a daughter?" she asked, arching a brow for greater effect.

"At least this happy, yes, and possibly more so. A young Josslyn to liven things up," he replied with another fulsome smile. Maker, he was bordering on obnoxiously happy at the moment. So naturally she hit him over the head with a blunt object.

"Good to know. Truly. But if we don't do something about Howe, and get ourselves to Denerim for the Landsmeet, none of it matters. The Blight waits for no man, not even a father-to-be."

After another argument about Fade walking or not Fade walking, Joss threw her hands in the air, exasperated. "Fine, I'll ask Ser Bran to accompany me. Will that satisfy you?"

He folded his arms and rocked on his feet, looking at her with an expression that resembled a glare, and would be one on anyone other than Teagan. "Templars can do that?"

"Yes, with the right amount of lyrium. I think it has something to do with their addiction to the stuff, but I won't swear to it. It will, however, require copious amounts."

"Then I suggest we find some," he said quietly, and the fight over whether or not to go into the Fade was finally settled. It was, Joss realized, a compromise. A novelty for her. Marriage had a soporific effect, apparently. It would have been nice if someone had warned her about that particular pitfall.

"I'll speak to Sister Leliana of the Incredibly Inane for that. She…procured…yes - we'll go with that - the lyrium for us last time."

His eyebrows shot up at that and she shrugged. "Grand theft lyrium," she explained with an unrepentant grin. "The Chantry controls the lyrium trade. One can't run a holy order without keeping one's army addicted and addled.

"Luckily, as a Grey Warden, I am committed to doing whatever is necessary to end the Blight. That includes stealing from the Chantry, although I hate to deprive the templars. It isn't their fault they've become lyrium addicts."

It didn't take too much convincing to talk Ser Bran into joining her in the Fade. He had done so in the past, when she'd been a demon hunter, and he knew exactly what to expect and how much lyrium was required. She didn't ask how he knew, she just accepted that he did.

It took even less convincing to talk Sister Larceny into _procuring_ more lyrium. The red-head gave a quick nod and a sparkling smile. "I shall return forthwith," she said and went off on her lyrium caper.

Not that they had a plan to deal with Howe once they found him in the Fade. As the others crowded into the bedchamber that evening, there was a low roar in Joss's ears as the others discussed and discarded various plans. Her head began to ache in protest. Elissa, Alistair, Fergus, Zevran, Ser Bran and Teagan were all determined to be heard above the racket of the others. Why did they insist that talking louder was the way to achieve it?

"I'll wing it. What could possibly go wrong?" Joss finally broke in, grinning.

A chorus of groans filled the air.

**~~~oOo~~~**

Joss's spell snaked along the ground, twisting and turning and disappearing into the distance. "Ready?" she asked Bran, who stood looking around him, weapon drawn.

"As ready as I can be," he replied stoically.

"It'll be fine, Bran. In fact, it'll be fun, like old times."

"That's cold comfort, Joss," he replied with the merest hint of humor.

They were silent as they followed the ground-hugging blue mist until Bran finally stopped. He pointed out two Desire Demons, leaning against a wall that hung suspended from thin air. It was a cheap trick, but they were Desire Demons, notorious for cheap tricks.

"I hear noise but can't quite understand the words," he whispered. It had been a common complaint from the other Templars who'd traveled with her in the Fade. She wasn't sure why they couldn't understand when she could.

With an apologetic grin, she sang: "_Stars shining bright above you; Night breezes seem to whisper: I want you; Birds singing in the sycamore tree; Dream a little dream of me_."

"Oh. I'm almost sorry I mentioned it."

Joss linked arms with him. "Not to worry, I've got your back," she assured him.

"Hey there, handsome. Happy to see me or is that a dagger in your pocket?" one of the scantily clad tarts asked in what she clearly thought was a sultry voice. Sure, if you were a dog with a hangover, perhaps.

"That's no dagger, dear, that's a sword," Joss explained in as condescending a tone as she could muster. "In fact, they call it a Demon Killer. So run along now you scabrous vituperators," she added, waving her hand at them, completely unconcerned.

The two demons exchanged puzzled looks before turning their gazes on Joss. No doubt they had no idea what scabrous or vituperators meant. They finally shrugged, and one spoke up. Clearly they hadn't heeded the warning in Joss's words, which delighted her.

"Well, aren't you the cocky one. What if we make a trade? I'll let you have Brin back, if I can have your handsome companion? Hmm, I'll even throw in your brother, I'm feeling that gen –"

The fireball hit the demon in the face and exploded, leaving a pair of nipples, neatly clamped, and not much more, in a smoldering heap. Was it wrong to enjoy her work so much? Probably, but her grin was almost painfully big as it rode her lips.

Next, she turned her magic on the other demon, who was shaking her head. "I didn't say anything," the demon protested. "I'm innocent. Innocent, I tell you!"

"There's no such thing as an innocent demon," Joss chided. They exchanged spells and Joss side-stepped the streamers of fire directed at her, watching with delight as the demon became encased in ice. Bran, a lifetime of training coming to bear, struck the iced demon with his sword. It shattered in a shower of icy detritus.

Her hero templar shook his head as they continued on. "You get an unholy joy from slaying demons, Joss. I always wondered why."

She flashed him a smile. "And you can keep on wondering, Brandsome," she teased, using his old nickname. He wasn't exactly handsome, but he wasn't exactly homely either. It was Petra who had come up with his nickname, and he smiled now, hearing it again.

"I do miss the old days," he admitted as they continued on.

She was sure he was remembering Stoker again, and she rested a hand on his arm as they followed the mist. "Stoker would be jealous, I know that much. He hated that you came into the Fade with me, thought we were having a torrid affair, I think."

Bran chuckled. "He was afraid you'd turn me," he replied and they both laughed.

After what seemed hours, and was probably only minutes, they came to Howe's Fadescape. He had been difficult to find and that never boded well for the encounter, she'd discovered.

"Other people's dreams can be pretty disgusting at times, especially when they aren't expecting company. No matter what you see, just remember that it isn't real outside the Fade. Ready?"

They no sooner entered then Joss stopped in her tracks. Bran bumped into her, and then she heard his sharp intake of breath, letting her know that he was seeing what she was seeing. Long moments passed. And then, because apparently neither of them could find anything intelligent to say, more moments passed with only the sound of Howe softly crooning to himself.

"_Oh my darling, oh my darling, oh my darling Rendon Howe. You are lost and gone forever, dreadful sorry, Rendon Howe_."

"Well, he doesn't have much of a voice, does he? Do you suppose that's Orlesian silk?" Joss asked conversationally.

"I - I'm…" Bran began, only to trail off and shake his head several times. "I believe it is, yes."

"And mauve? Really? Is there anyone in all of Thedas that actually looks good in that color?" Joss asked in a voice that held a whisper of laughter wrapped in a thick coating of disbelief.

"I – I'm…" again Bran trailed off. "I expected dark, grim images, not…not this…this…" he said, searching for a word to describe the man before them.

Poor Bran, Joss thought, giving him what she hoped was a sympathetic smile. Now that she'd had a few moments to process the dream, she was determined not to laugh out loud, but it was proving a monumental task. It would be much easier to manipulate Howe. Even if shaping his thoughts didn't work, the humiliation would. What a relief, not to mention a win-win situation.

The man many were calling The Butcher of Highever was sitting on a velvet-clad stool in front of a vanity. The gilt-framed mirror attached to the vanity was large, and there were several bright lamps lit. Joss assumed it was so the man, and she used that term advisedly, could see to put his make-up on. A rouge pot, a powder puff and several brushes lay atop the vanity.

Dressed in a mauve silk gown with a puce stomacher, Rendon Howe was busy applying lip color. More mauve, sadly. Someone really needed to help him learn what colors suited a sallow complexion, grey hair and brown eyes. With that thought, came the answer on how to approach the Butcher.

"Follow my lead and don't speak," Joss instructed Bran quietly.

"That won't be a problem. I have no idea what to say," he replied, scratching his head.

"Good evening, my lord. Erm, my lady? I have been sent to assist you," Joss announced, hoping she sounded obsequious enough. It was not a tone she was used to imitating, and she hoped never to do so again. She gave a deep curtsy, and then wished she hadn't as her knees protested. Bran's hand slipped under her elbow as he assisted her.

"And who's that with you?" demanded Howe, pointing a suspicious finger at the templar.

"Merely my aide, your…erm…Grace?" Oh nice, no quiver of amusement in that tone. Well, maybe a scintilla. Or more.

And it wasn't as if a man both taller and broader than she was, wearing women's clothing, looked all that graceful, either. However, that was a thought best kept to herself.

She wondered how he managed to totter around in the pointy toes, high-heeled shoes, but perhaps Sister Senseless could explain at a later time. Or why he would want to, for that matter. Still, hers was not to wonder why, hers was to take advantage of a golden opportunity.

Joss stepped forward and picked up the rouge pot. She had no idea how to apply make-up, but she couldn't possibly do a worse job than the man sitting before her in all his sartorial splendor. How she would manage to keep a straight face throughout the course of his dream was anyone's guess.

The next hour was spent assisting Howe complete his toilette, and listening to his maundering discourse on the other nobles, including Bryce's rejection of him, and the revenge he sought against Loghain for the general's disgust. Apparently the general had seen Howe with one of Loghain's captains. Joss didn't even want to let her imagination wander in that direction.

He also mentioned, in passing, that he had plans to kidnap Anora and marry her, placing himself on the throne by any means necessary. That was a terrifying prospect. As in: the Archdemon would make a better king than the madman sitting in front of the mirror, toying with the ribbons in his short grey hair.

She paid careful attention, or as careful as she could while staring at a man wearing an off-the-shoulder gown of mauve Orlesian silk. She noted where he kept his papers, trying _not_ to notice that the same chest full of papers also contained manacles, a small whip that she guessed was a riding crop, and several other things that boggled her mind.

Howe was becoming fidgety and fretful, which meant he was beginning to wake up. "Bran, do not say a word about this to anyone," she whispered. "And do not lop my head off for what I'm about to do," she added, before turning her attention back to the Butcher.

"Do remember, your Grace, that a deep maroon is a much more attractive color for you, and a pale pink lip color and rouge. You don't want to hide your natural beauty," she said, gagging slightly on her words.

"Yes, quite right. Now, be gone before I decide you need to die for your insolence."

"Of course," Joss said, her fingers tracing arcs in the air in front of her, each arc leaving a glowing trail of golden light. The wispy trails converged, and then surrounded Howe. She closed her eye and spoke softly. "You will attend the Landsmeet dressed as you are, no matter how many people try to dissuade you. You will not kidnap the queen, you've no need. Everyone will fall on their knees before you. Now, repeat what I've said," she finished, once again drawing figures in the air.

He repeated it several times before she was satisfied. Turning to Bran, she whispered, "Time to leave this asylum."

They stepped into the raw Fade and Josslyn was tempted to kiss the drab earth beneath her feet. She shook her head, trying to dislodge the vision of Howe from her mind but he refused to leave it. "Maker's moldy balls!" she exclaimed, not sure whether to laugh or empty her stomach. Or both.

"Well, well, clever child, it seems we are destined to meet again."

Andraste's corset! One calm, peaceful day. Was that so much to ask?


	47. Chapter 47

**A/N: **_A necessary "how do you get from here to there" chapter. This is the trip to Denerim, Joss style. We are in the final chapters of her saga now.  
As always, my thanks to super Beta Lisa! You are a joy and inspiration. _

**Tripping the Blight Fantastic**

"You know, I don't even have time for this, Flemeth," Joss was surprised to hear herself say flippantly.

Sure, why not antagonize the spookiest dragon-witch-thing in all of Thedas? She took a step back and pushed Bran forward, not exactly hiding behind the big, strong templar, but not adverse to a walking wall of armor between her and Flemeth, either. That thought reminded her of the suits of armor that had come to life in Redcliffe Castle during the hostile takeover and she blinked the image away as quickly as she could.

"Does privacy mean anything to you?" she added, peeking out from behind Bran's broad shoulders. Bran chuckled at that. She supposed it _was_ ironic coming from a woman who'd grown up in a place where privacy didn't exist.

"My, my, you are a hostile little mage tonight, aren't you?" Flemeth replied. "I have come to have a little talk, nothing more."

"There's always something more with you, Flemeth." Joss flinched, waiting for the fickle finger of fate to poke her in the eye for that remark.

Bran cleared his throat and stepped forward. Joss applauded his bravery even though she secretly thought he was an idiot. She pulled at his tassets, hoping to reel him in, but he shrugged her off. Raising an arm, he slowly waved it in a sweeping arc in Flemeth's direction, intoning: "This isn't the mage you're looking for."

Joss wondered if he had a death wish or if he really didn't understand what Flemeth was. Not that she did, either, but at least she _knew_ that she didn't know. And in _knowing_ that she didn't know, she knew not to antagonize her. She blinked, not sure _she_ knew what she meant anymore.

The silence was ominous. Foreboding. Downright scary. She cringed, closing her eyes and bracing herself for a bloody battle. She waited, holding her breath for good measure. And waited. And waited. Finally, she opened one eye and then the other. Flemeth was gone. Her breath gusted out and she felt oddly disappointed. Which made no sense. At. All.

"Well, I guess she knows not to mess with me," Bran boasted, chest puffed out as he grinned.

Joss snickered. "You keep telling yourself that, Bran. That bitch doesn't do anything she doesn't want to."

"Not unlike a certain mage I know," was his rejoinder.

Before she could form a pithy reply, she awoke. Teagan, slumped in a chair beside the bed, sat up and then reached for her. "Never again," he whispered against her hair.

"Never say never," she chided. "You never know when you'll want me to come visit _you_ in the Fade."

"As I have no intention of letting you out of my sight for the foreseeable future, that won't be an issue," he replied firmly.

Joss admitted, but only to herself, that the thought of him remaining with her was not a bad thought. At. All. A smile pushed away the last of her unease. "I suppose anything more than a fleeting kiss will have to wait, as I hear saber-rattling going on outside the door," she sighed, sliding off his lap, not completely sure how she'd wound up there to begin with, but not minding all that much.

Howe's dream only sounded creepier as Joss explained it to the other interested parties a short time later. Apparently, some found it less so. In fact, Fergus was positively gleeful, reaching for Zevran and swinging him into an embrace that seemed to push the wind out of the unsuspecting elf. Joss winced, convinced she heard the crack of Zev's ribs over Fergus's boisterous laugh.

"We've got the little toad!" the future king of Ferelden shouted, continuing his lively jig around the room. "No offense, Joss," he added, tossing her a grin that was so infectious, she tossed one right back at him.

"Please, my noble giant, I prefer my feet on the ground," Zev laughed, straightening his leather tunic once he was released.

"I don't understand. Why would he be wearing a dress? Are you sure it wasn't a dressing robe? I remember there was this one time when Arl Eamon had this light blue silk dressing robe and – why is everyone looking at me like that?" Alistair asked, clearly confused.

"Elissa, pardon my saying this in front of everyone, but you need to either take Alistair to bed or to the Pearl. He is woefully ignorant in a number of areas," Fergus remarked, his snicker _almost_ drowning out the sound of Alistair's gurgle of embarrassment.

Elissa flashed her brother a look that made Joss happy not to be the recipient of it because the daggers in it looked exceptionally sharp. "Alistair, I'll explain later," the young noblewoman said patiently.

"Oh. Ooooh! I get it, I get it. This is big, isn't it?" Alistair replied, wide-eyed.

It was several moments before the laughter died down and the conversation resumed. They spent two hours going over every detail of the Landsmeet, as if things would actually go according to plan. They hadn't yet, why would the Landsmeet be any different? Joss sighed, wondering if anyone would notice if she climbed back into bed for an hour or two.

There was the long walk to Denerim ahead of them; surely they'd have plenty of time to work out any kinks in the plan? Joss remembered their last walk from Redcliffe to Denerim and it seemed a lifetime ago. Possibly two lifetimes ago. Still, Denerim wasn't getting any closer to Redcliffe. The end of the Blight was just over the horizon and Joss was more than ready to meet and defeat it.

The Wardens and company gathered for a serious meeting. Or, Joss amended with a mental eye-roll, as serious as the Wardens and company could manage.

"Time to kick this Blight on the backside," Jowan said, as if reading her thoughts.

Well, he was a blood mage, maybe he can read them, Joss mused, focusing on a particularly ribald story she'd recently heard, but Jowan neither blushed nor laughed so she supposed he hadn't actually read her mind so much as her expression. She sighed in relief. Her mind was not a place fit for human consumption.

"I suppose we need to inform the armies that they'll be marching to Denerim," Joss sighed. Her feet were already protesting the notion of tripping along the beaten path. She didn't blame them.

"Are we sure they should? What if the Archdemon decides to focus on Redcliffe and the Bannorn instead?" Randal asked, obviously concerned about his village, and a particular red-haired tavern wench.

Oghren guffawed and slapped the man on the back, sending Randal careening forward. "Doesn't make any sense for Archie to go anywhere but Denerim."

Archie? Really? Joss groaned. "The Dalish scouts say that the pattern of recent attacks suggest that the darkspawn are moving in the direction of Denerim." She blinked in surprise. Maker's purple pantaloons! When had she started sounding like a damned leader? She glared at Teagan, who raised a brow in surprise.

"Don't think we won't talk about this later," she hissed, turning away from him to focus on her Wardens.

"Riordan wants to take a quick trip to Ostagar to see if he can pick up the Archdemon's trail. Apparently he doesn't believe the Dalish know what they're doing. I say that unless the Archdemon has a fondness for salted mackerel it makes sense that _Archie_ will lead the assault on Ferelden's center of commerce and power."

There is was again. That ridiculously authoritative tone. As if she could command anyone to do anything. Andraste's cast-iron garters! She couldn't even command her feet to cross a room without tripping. She shot another glare at Teagan, who merely smiled. The smug bastard. She turned away before he saw her answering smile.

"So, Brother Riordan, I suggest you march with us rather than make a suicidal run on Ostagar."

Riordan's eyebrows rose skyward and he shook his head, his blue eyes teasing. "I wish you would speak more bluntly, Commander Joss," he said in his softly accented voice. "I actually cancelled the trip after speaking with Fleribin, the head scout. Denerim it is, lass," he added with an incorrigible grin that Joss found herself responding to despite herself. Damned if he couldn't charm Andraste's frilly knickers off the woman if he set his mind to _not_ being a complete Grey Warden arse.

They left two days later. Naturally, Eamon thought she should ride in a carriage, as befitted the wife of a bann. She thought he should get down off his high horse, literally, and walk with the troops. Both glowered at each other and did precisely what they wanted. Teagan, barely speaking to Eamon, walked beside Joss, and, when his brother offered to loan Teagan a horse, he shook his head and didn't answer.

"Teagan, you're being childish. You haven't been yourself of late, and I can only assume this woman's influence is to blame."

Oddly enough, Teagan took exception to both Eamon's tone and words. Had Shayle not taken that moment to announce a large flock of blackbirds heading directly for them, Joss suspected the brothers would have wound up rolling on the ground tossing ill-aimed punches at each other.

Shayle, usually unflappable in the face of her enemies, was waving her stony arms wildly in the air. "Death to all birds!" the golem shouted and Joss had to hide her smirk behind her hand.

"Cease your whining, golem. Those are not just blackbirds, they are here at my behest," Morrigan haughtily proclaimed.

Well, sure, why not have a flock of squawking black birds heralding your arrival? Joss counted them and then counted them again. In one group there were four, and twenty in the other group, all of them making a screeching racket as they flapped overhead.

"Please tell your friends to settle down, they're giving me a headache," Joss instructed just as Morrigan shape-shifted into a raven and took to the sky.

Apparently the birds were reporting to Morrigan about darkspawn movements in the south. She relayed the information to Joss a short time later. It was odd, having Morrigan being so co-operative, but she opened her mouth to thank the cold, dark beauty. Something entirely different came out.,

"What do you want from me?" Joss asked suspiciously.

Morrigan tilted her head, eyeing Joss through narrowed gold eyes. "'Twould seem you have lost none of your charm these long months on the road," the witch replied coolly. "'Twould also seem my help is no longer necessary."

Joss rubbed her forehead. Maker's hairy armpit! She was becoming as acerbic as a noble. What a horrible thought. "That's not what I meant. It's just you're normally not very hel - you know what? I'm just going to shut up now."

There was a hint of amusement in Morrigan's eyes. "A wise choice," she agreed.

The question of why Morrigan was still with them, once raised, wouldn't leave Josslyn's head, like a refrain from a catchy song that drove one crazy as it replayed over and over in one's head. Obviously they needed to talk, but standing in the middle of the road with a crazed Shayle wasn't the time or place. They'd be stopping for their midday meal soon, a meal the dwarves called 'lunch' and, judging by the sounds emanating from her stomach, lunch couldn't come soon enough.

"Let's do lunch," Joss told the witch. Morrigan inclined her head graciously and then, with a flurry of feathers, took flight again.

Once they calmed Shayle, who proclaimed caustically that birds were best served baked in a pie, they proceeded onward. The dust cloud that rose from the combined armies of the elves, humans and dwarves probably signaled to anyone with even a hint of a brain exactly where they were. Short of a rainstorm, there wasn't much she could do about that.

When they stopped for lunch, Joss went in search of Morrigan, who was seated under a spreading oak.

"So, why are you still with us? I mean, I'm grateful for the help, really, but you know you won't be getting your old god baby. Even Riordan, who looks like he'd sleep with anything possessing two legs, and possibly more, has agreed it's not a good plan."

A silky jet brow arched gracefully. "Your compliments leave much to be desired."

"Right, sorry. What I mean is: what will you do to protect yourself from your dear old mother?"

"I have spoken with Lanaya, the Dalish keeper. 'Twould seem she has ancient knowledge that will aid my escape. Once the Blight has ended, I will make my way to her camp. I will thwart Mother, of that there is no doubt."

Only Morrigan could get away with using the word 'thwart', Joss thought with a grin that refused to be repressed. "I hope it works for you because if that nutty old hag of a mother of yours doesn't leave me alone in the Fade, I may have need of that ancient knowledge," Joss said and then felt a twinge, a sudden realization that once the Blight was over, everyone would be going in different directions. Maker's baked buns! That thought brought a rush of emotion she neither wanted nor expected.

"You do realize, Josslyn, she is merely toying with you because you allow it?"

Joss grinned. "I thought it was because she wished she'd been smart enough to have me as her daughter," she replied, snickering when a delicate shudder went through Morrigan.

"And I'm not the only one whose compliments leave much to be desired," she added.

"Twill no doubt be a constant problem for us both," Morrigan agreed with a hint of a frosty smile gracing her lips.

"Well, now that we've both managed to make the other feel terrific about themselves, we should probably get back on the road. Oghren is rummaging around in his pack for another home brew of moldy underwear and rock that he'll insist on sharing with everyone."

That night the camp was awash in raucous revelry. Joss wasn't entirely sure why most of the group was in a celebratory mood, but she watched the shenanigans through mellow eyes, which seemed to worry most of her companions.

Riordan regaled them with stories of his and Duncan's days as thieves and cutpurses in Val Royeaux. The man was obviously talking about a different Duncan, because the Duncan she'd traveled to Ostagar with was stodgy and staid. Well, except for the whole burnt beard fiasco. When she told Riordan about it, he laughed until tears rolled down his cheeks.

"His beard was his pride and joy. He spent long months growing it out and grooming it," he explained in between bouts of laughter. "He kept a silver comb on him just for that purpose, one that Bymbeau Caron had made especially for it."

"Ah, Bymbeau was always such a thoughtful woman," Leliana of the Loquacious Lunatics cooed.

The merriment of the evening gave way to rain the following morning. Joss cursed the Maker, in rather colorful terms, for having a perverse and cruel nature.

"No, Joss, you must not say such things. The Maker would never hurt his children," Sister Dim-And-Dimmer chirped, waving her hands anxiously.

"How would he know what I'm saying? Didn't he turn away from us? Maybe he's got ears and eyes in the back of his head?" Joss asked, her voice rising ever so slightly at the end.

"Ah, my dear, I've been looking for you," Teagan broke in, taking her aside and fastening an oiled canvas cloak around her. He pulled the hood up and secured it, his eyes twinkling, albeit damply, as water dripped down his face. "Are you sure you won't reconsider riding in the carriage?"

"Is there room for the rest of the group?" she asked. It was a conversation they'd had several times already.

"There is not, as you well know."

"Then I'll walk, thanks."

"Stubborn woman, I'm thinking of our child."

Joss grinned, despite being wet and cold. "Strangely, the baby is not actually getting rained on," she replied, glancing down at her belly, which was still rather flat, unless she squinted and then she saw a small protrusion, or maybe it was just a surfiet of oatcakes. "And don't think I don't know what you're doing."

Feigning innocence, Teagan asked, "What am I doing?"

"Distracting me from saying something truly blasphemous but utterly true."

"Ah, well, if it worked, it is a fortuitous coincidence."

"You are the world's worst liar, Marmalade."

"Thank you, my dear."

As the day progressed, the march to Denerim slowed, mostly because of the viscous mud they were forced to slog through. Eamon gave up riding his horse for the dry interior of the carriage. Two hours after he settled into his dry environs, the carriage bogged down, mired in the mire, as Elissa poetically pronounced, and Eamon poked his head out, surveying the scene with a grim visage. Joss was not the only one tittering behind her hand. He bellowed orders to his driver, who was miserable and soaked. He was no doubt perplexed as to how to implement Eamon's orders. Joss could hardly blame him as they seemed anatomically impossible.

"We _could_ help him, you know," Jowan said without much conviction, coming up beside Joss. She gave him a warning look.

"We shouldn't abuse our magical abilities, Jowan. The Chantry frowns on it, don't they, Alistair?"

Alistair, water dripping off the tip of his nose, nodded, sending water droplets in every direction. Wynne was not amused, which amused Joss all the more.

"That is not what they mean, Joss, as you well know. Magic is to serve man, and if we can assist poor Arl Eamon, so we should."

"Wynne, you'll have to show me where, in the Canticles, it tells us we must toady up to the nobles by helping them wipe their a –"

"People skills!" Leliana cheeped, eyes and mouth forming perfect 'ohs' as she watched the scene.

Joss rolled her eyes and began to speak, only to have Oghren start singing rather boisterously and off-key. She snapped her mouth shut and turned to him.

"What are you doing, Shortstuff?"

"I'm singing in the rain, what does it look like I'm doing, Red?"

Joss winced at that, not that she blamed him. She had started with the derogatory, if fondly applied, nickname for him. It was only fair that he reciprocate. "Oh, that's a relief. I thought you'd been mortally wounded, going by that caterwauling you call singing. The question I have to ask is: why?"

Oghren shrugged, giving her a bleary-eyed wink. "Why not? Passes the time and I'm out of ale until the next stop, so what's left to do?"

She blinked, unable to come up with a suggestion that wouldn't have half the group shouting about her people skills. "Right. Carry on. Just translate it since I'm not familiar with dwarvanese," she added.

Rolling his eyes and snorting, Oghren began, "This is a little ditty about Jhak and Dyann, growing up in the Dust Land."

And he was off, bellowing lyrics that made no sense at all, and had to do with nugs, promises in the dark, and the back of Jhak's neck getting dirty and gritty. Well, sure, he lived in Dust Town, why wouldn't it? But Joss continued to listen, finding herself humming as he came to the refrain. In fact, she heard several of her companions singing the refrain with him.

"_Oh yeah, life goes on, long after the thrill of living is gone_," Cathair belted out in a voice that was strong and sure, but that only a mother could love. Some people should not sing. Joss was one such person, and she'd found her soul mate in that regard. She learned something new about her companions every day, some good and some really, really bad, but all highly entertaining.

When Oghren finally finished, someone else began to sing, his voice a bit strained, wobbling a little as he started off, but not at all bad. _"I am just a poor boy, though my story's seldom told__…"_

She looked back over her shoulder to see Alistair warbling away. She was not the only one who was shocked to hear him singing. Elissa was watching him as if he was wearing cloth-of-gold and radiating moonbeams out of his arse. Joss snickered. Love was a strange bird. She looked at Teagan, deep in discussion with Jowan, of all people.

And then she was slipping and sliding in the mud, tripped by her own traitorous foot. She wobbled on one foot, hands out for balance, but the ground had other ideas and she was just about to pitch head-first into the muck when a strong hand plucked her up and settled her on her feet.

"Thanks, Shayle, you're a rock."

"I cannot imagine why I saved It just to be mocked by It," Shayle replied with that eye-rolling tone that Joss had yet to perfect.

"Well, would you believe me if I became effusive and full of empty platitudes and flattery?"

"It is married to a noble. I wait each day for just such an occurance."

Joss was still chuckling when Elissa came to walk beside her. She linked arms with Joss, smiling brightly. "You really are clumsy," she began.

Oh sure, insult the leader, that's always a good bonding agent for friendship. Joss shrugged. "It's a talent, really. When mages reach a certain age, their abilities in a particular school of magic manifest. Mine was the Maladroit tree, an oft overlooked school," she replied dryly.

"Then I applaud your talents in that regard."

"So, why are you really here, instead of walking beside our resident virgin?"

"I've come to ask for your help in that regard."

Joss shot the noblewoman a frown. "What are you implying, exactly? That I'm a tart who'll know what to do? Because you're talking about my younger brother, here."

"Oh, I'm sorry, that isn't what I mean, at all. You've traveled with him from the beginning so you know him better than anyone. I've hinted and hinted that I'm amenable to being taken to bed, but he is particularly obtuse. I adore him, I'm fairly certain he feels the same, but he can't quite take that next step."

"Ah. Well, he has a great deal of trouble talking about sex so I'm not surprised he's having even more trouble actually performing the act. You'll have to take the bull by the horn…er…so to speak."

Elissa returned Joss's earlier frown. "You don't mean that literally, I trust?"

"I do, actually, but if you can't manage to do that, at least take the lead. Just ask him to your tent and when he gets all bashful and tongue-tied, grab him by the hand and pull him inside. Don't let him leave until you're both satisfied. I'll warn you, though, that he will be first, and rather quickly, but I'll let you kids work that out."

Elissa was blushing, a very becoming shade of pink. Joss couldn't blush that prettily if she was paid to do it. She was also surprised that the young noblewoman wasn't more experienced. In all the books she'd ever read, the noblewomen were as sexually active as any of the heroes. Of course, the young noblewoman hadn't grown up in the Tower where sexual innocence at her age was as common as a silk ball-gown. Elissa certainly talked as if she was experienced, but it was obvious she wasn't.

"Have you ever been with a man?" Joss heard herself asking, with the ardent hope that Elissa would _not_ go into detail if the answer was in the affirmative.

"Once, with Rory Gilmore, a knight at the castle. We were both awkward and it…well, I don't have much experience," Elissa confessed.

Breathing a sigh of relief that Elissa's confession hadn't been graphic, Joss patted the young woman's hand in what she hoped was a reassuring manner.

"Then you can learn together, but if you want it to happen, you'll have to be the one to make it so. Number one thing to remember is let him know he's the only thing you want. Number two thing to remember is to show him what you like, otherwise he'll always be satisfied and you'll want to scream in frustration."

Nodding, Elissa committed the rules to memory, before changing the subject to something innocuous and safe. Joss could have danced a jig but her mud-encrusted boots wanted nothing to do with it as they made soft sucking sounds with each step. Bollocks. Why couldn't it just be a nice, clear, comfortable day? Didn't they have enough to worry about what with the Archdemon and political intrigue and mercenaries trying to kill them?

As if the gods above had been waiting for the conversation, the rain stopped as suddenly as it had started. The clouds began to part and a cheerful sun peeked out from behind the clouds. Why hadn't she offered up that prayer earlier, she wondered, her grin coming out to greet the sun.

Of course, the roads were no less treacherous just because the rain had stopped. She slipped in the mud, caught herself, stumbled forward, caught herself again, teetered backwards, caught herself and then took another step backwards, putting her foot in the hem at the back of her robe. Even Shayle couldn't catch her in time. Mud flew up around her and she heard a soft _squish _as her backside settled more firmly in the morass.

Propping her elbows on her knees, Joss refused to budge until she'd caught her breath. Naturally, the entire combined armies of all of Thedas wanted to crowd around and watch the crazy mage sitting in the mud. Sure, who wouldn't want to watch that? Maker knew _she'd _want to watch if it was someone else who was being sucked deeper into the mire.

"Ah, my lovely Warden, I do not believe this is what they mean by a mud bath," Zevran said, extending his hand. She pulled him into the quagmire with a muddy grin.

"Don't knock it until you've tried it, old friend."

"Ah, with you, I am willing to try anything," he responded with an answering grin.

Maker, she'd miss them all when the Blight was over.


	48. Chapter 48

**A/N: **_This is for you, Naomi, thanks for the idea! And yeah, Landsmeet NEXT chapter…I hope.  
My apologies for the delay in posting updates on my stories, RL came up and smacked me, then decided to run over me a time or two. Hopefully I'm back on track now.  
Lisa, as always, my humble thanks for cleaning up the wayward commas, odd capitalizations and errant run-ons. _

**Three Men and a Virgin**

They arrived in Denerim late in the afternoon and were met by the handsome Sergeant Kylon and a squad of men. Eamon stuck his head out of the carriage to glare at the sergeant and demand to be let through the gates, having crammed himself inside said carriage to avoid any further embarrassment. At least that's what Joss assumed, since it had happened right after Oghren had challenged "that nug-humping, ale-swilling, pot-bellied son of a whore and his miserable, tight-assed, sod of an old goat brother" to a night of drinking and card playing.

Joss had zapped Oghren for his description of her husband. She hadn't minded his uncannily accurate description of Eamon, but the scurrilous lie that her husband had an ounce of fat on him, let alone a pot belly, couldn't go unchallenged. Still, it had been after that incident that Eamon had taken himself out of the line of fire, and the trip had been remarkably fun from then on. Or as fun as a road trip in mud and dust, complete with flies, mosquitoes, blisters and sunburned cheeks could be.

Sergeant Kylon addressed his remarks to her, ignoring Eamon after a polite nod. "I apologize, Warden Josslyn, but darkspawn attacks have grown more numerous, and the queen fears for her life. She's instructed the city guard, and my superiors, that it's necessary to keep the gates closed at all times."

Joss snickered. "Sure, because, you know, darkspawn care - or have any way of knowing - who's seated on the throne, or even what a throne is, come to think of it."

Kylon gave her a quick, wicked grin. "Exactly as I explained, Warden Joss, but to no avail. At least it keeps the soldiers busy."

The gates swung open and Eamon's carriage rattled into the city, nearly running Joss over in its haste. Had Teagan not pulled her back, her toes would have been mashed. She wasn't all that unhappy to be leaning against her nug-humping man. No, definitely no pot belly there, although there was _something_ protruding…she shut the door firmly on that thought, at least until they'd settled everyone.

"He has gone too far," Teagan said in a low, angry voice.

Joss was happy not to be the object of that kind of stored-up anger, but she was more than willing to go along with Teagan so she could watch him pummel his "miserable, tight-assed, sod of an old goat brother." She hoped he would do it soon because her back hurt. She was more than ready for a hot bath and a soft bed.

The armies had set up camp just to the south of the city. She'd left Cathair and Jowan to look after them, along with Sers Perth, Donnell and Magilacuddy, who were considerably more skilled at directing large groups of soldiers. Besides, Joss didn't think it would be wise to bring a blood mage into the city, for whichJowan had been pathetically grateful.

Riordan went to the Grey Warden compound, in search of super secret stuff, and Randal went with him, no doubt to explain that any super secret stuff had long ago been pilfered, Grey Warden ciphers being ridiculously easy to break.

Fergus, hiding under a hooded cloak and limping for good measure, didn't think it wise to stay at the Cousland's Denerim estate. For one thing, Howe had stashed a large number of his personal guard there, and they weren't likely to look kindly on a Cousland showing up. Instead, he and Elissa would be staying with Arl Eamon, the poor things. Not that a number of people didn't already know that the Cousland Kids, as Jowan called them, were alive.

Leliana asked to stay at the chantry, as she knew a number of the lay sisters and brothers. Sure, so many lay people, so little time. Joss was not unhappy to see her head off in the direction of the chantry grounds, after eliciting a promise that she attend the Landsmeet. Joss's strategy at the Landsmeet was to divert, distract and disarm the nobles. Not that she believed she could do any of that, but Sister Éclair would be perfect at doing all three.

Wynne and Shayle wanted to do some research in the archives stored at The Wonders of Thedas. Wynne, apparently still suffering from delusions of grandeur, was sure that Lawrence, Khurley and Maurice would find room for them above the shop. Joss wasn't so sure Shayle could actually climb the narrow, winding staircase up to the rooms above the shop, but she'd pay to watch the attempt.

The rest would be staying at Teagan's estate, although she doubted she'd see much of Zevran, considering where Fergus was staying. As they passed the Gnawed Noble, Joss turned to look at Teagan, grinning mischievously. He shook his head.

"I absolutely refuse to remove my shirt this time," he said firmly.

"Shoes?" she asked hopefully.

"You're a bann's wife now. They will not refuse you service even should you remove _all_ your clothing," he explained, returning her mischievous smile with a stern look, belied by the slight upward twitch of his lips.

"_All_? Why Teagan Guerrin, is that a challenge?" Joss asked, reaching up to begin unlacing the high neck of her robe.

Teagan's eyes narrowed slightly as his grin widened, his earlier anger at his brother falling to the ground. Joss hoped it stayed there because getting mad at the abhorrent, arthritic, avaricious Arl of Redcliffe was a waste of time and effort. Besides, revenge would be served at the Landsmeet with the announcement of who was being put forth as king. Joss considered rubbing her hands together gleefully at the thought, but was interrupted by their arrival at Teagan's townhouse.

The servants and seneschal had been busy. The shredded, charred drapes had been replaced with gauzy white curtains that billowed from the wind blowing softly through the open window. Joss stood in the doorway, staring around her appreciatively. The previously charred floor was now highly polished wood and there was, once more, a lavender rose in a bud vase, sitting on the small table. Being noble had its upside, that was certain.

"Poor things, they went to a lot of work on my account. I'll bet they're already taking bets on how –"

Before she could say more. Teagan scooped her up into his arms and stepped across the threshold, obviously on a mission as he headed straight for the bed. He placed her on it with great reverence and then proceeded to shuck his clothing like a clam shucking its shell.

"Lady Josslyn Guerrin, what do you say to a bit of afternoon delight?" he whispered, warm breath feathering like butterfly wings across her skin.

"Afternoon, evening…I'm game to stay here until the Landsmeet," she replied as he untied her robes.

"Jooooossssss! I can't find my pack!" Alistair called out, his voice on the wrong side of petulant, but his body on the right side of the door. Teagan dove for his clothes, his tanned cheeks turning faintly pink. Joss would have to thank Alistair for the wonderful view of her husband's assets his interruption had allowed her to witness.

"You're going to have to talk to him," Joss sighed, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and sitting up. "Before _I_ do it, and we both know that would scar him for life," she added.

"Maker's breath, Joss, I have no idea what to say to him. Or how to say it," Teagan murmured as he clutched his clothes to him.

She doubted that Alistair would barge in, although it would be highly amusing if he did. She wouldn't mind but she imagined Alistair would blush to death and Teagan would be puffed up manliness, with a dollop of embarrassment on the side.

"Explain what goes on behind closed doors. Speak bluntly, but use small words. Be prepared with smelling salts. You're going to be a father, my dear bann, so you might as well practice on Alistair," she ended.

Casting a longing look at the bed, Joss moved to the screen, behind which was a gleaming copper tub, filled with water. Yes, definitely an upside to being a noble.

"Perhaps a night out, just the men," Teagan mused as Joss heated the water in the tub with a quick spell.

"Sure, just the men…and a boy," she snickered, pulling her robe off and tossing it to the floor. Maker's bedpost! When had her breast band become so tight? She tossed it after the robe. Putting a leg on the rim of the tub, she began to unroll her stocking only to find nimble fingers pushing hers aside, and a pair of experienced lips kissing along her bare shoulder. There was a lot to be said for a man with experience. She sighed, stepping out of one stocking before he started on the other.

"Such practiced hands, Teagan," she hummed, enjoying herself. "I believe I'll have you perform this task every night."

"I am ever at your service, my lady," he replied.

"There you go again with the 'my lady' nonsense," she chided, adding a bit more warmth to the bathwater in the form of a dancing fireball no larger than a peach stone.

"You are, as my wife, to be addressed in that manner," he replied. "However, if, at this moment, you wish to be anything but ladylike, I will not dissuade you," he added, nipping gently along the slender column of her neck.

She pulled him into the tub, a wall of water cascading over the side. "Unladylike it is," she agreed cheerfully.

**~~~oOo~~~**

"You mean just us guys?" Alistair asked, beaming.

Teagan glanced at Joss, who was valiantly trying to stifle a grin and not succeeding in the least. He wasn't sure if she was grinning at his discomfort or Alistair's eagerness to go out with 'just the men'.

He was wondering how he had allowed himself to be talked into having another talk with Alistair. Considering how the first one had gone, months earlier, he wasn't confident that this one would go any better.

"I've heard back from Fergus, who will join us, as will Zevran, so it will be a small group."

"Right, just three men and a vir..." Joss began and then stopped herself, smiling brightly. It was, of course, too late, and Teagan was left to wonder, as he stifled his own smile, if she hadn't done that more for his benefit than Alistair's.

"I'll go change. Oh, wait, maybe I should stay in my armor? Nobody will bother us if I do, I'm pretty scary looking," Alistair said, preening.

Joss's snicker was little more than a whisper, but Teagan heard it all the same, his lips twitching into a smile.

"No, I think a tunic and trousers will do fine, Alistair. We'll take the carriage and be quite safe."

Joss had been right to remind him that he'd always regretted not taking a larger role in Alistair's life, and that now was his chance to do so. Still, looking at her curled in a chair with a book in her lap, and looking very much like the cat who'd swallowed the cream – an unfortunate expression as his smalls suddenly seemed entirely _too_ small – he couldn't help but wonder if he'd been set up. She winked at him and he found himself smiling again.

If life before Joss had been flat and dull - no more than a series of hunting parties and women being dangled in front of him - life now was completely unpredictable and colorful. He found he didn't mind. At. All. In fact, he wondered how he'd believed himself to be content prior to Joss's arrival.

"I wish I could go along. I've heard so many wonderful stories about The Pearl," she complained, once more winking at Teagan.

"Ah, my lovely Warden, you would put all the other women there to shame, such is your beauty," Zev said, entering the room as silently as a wraith. Teagan doubted he would ever get used to just how quietly and gracefully Zev moved.

"Right, Zev. I have that problem everywhere I go. I won't be surprised if, when we finally meet him, the Archdemon falls at my feet, worshipping my glorious good looks," Joss agreed, and, even without looking at his wife, Teagan knew she was rolling her eyes skyward.

Most women loved compliments, flowery phrases and gentle wooing. Joss neither trusted nor enjoyed such behavior, but her absolute refusal to see herself as a beautiful woman baffled Teagan. She was lovely, not in a conventional way, but in a vibrant way. She was a sunset after a storm, bright and breathtaking in its glory, as opposed to the other women of his acquaintance, who were like drab grey skies, waiting for lightning to spark their inner fire.

Settling into the carriage a few moments later, Teagan felt another stir of unease about the evening. Why had he thought it would be a good idea to take Alistair to a whorehouse to discuss the mechanics of lovemaking? And why had he asked Zev and Fergus along? He rested his head against the wall of the carriage and wondered if he would scar Alistair even worse than Joss would have, had she been the one to talk to him. No matter, it was too late to do anything about it.

"I'm not going to do anything there, right? I mean besides have a drink with the men, right?" Alistair asked, his voice a bit shrill.

"There's no need for you to be nervous, Alistair, just drinks and manly men talk," Teagan replied, trying to believe his words.

Fergus, still cloaked and hooded, met them inside the Pearl, where Sanga greeted them with hearty hugs and kisses. Alistair blushed and shuffled his feet, staring at the ground as his ears became a red beacon in the dimly lit brothel.

"Teagan, you naughty man, where have you been? I heard you were in the city months ago, but you didn't stop by," Sanga complained with a sassy smile.

Alistair gasped, a quick intake of air that fairly whistled on its way back out. "You – you've been here before?" Alistair asked, clearly shocked. It was impossible for Teagan to discern if it was shock and awe or shock and disgust, but he decided it hardly mattered. It was becoming apparent that it would be a long night.

"Teagan's a married man, and soon to be a father," Fergus explained to the proprietress of the best little whorehouse in Denerim.

"Oh, Maker!" Sanga sang out, clapping delightedly. "Well done, Teagan. Won't Tohm and Jairy be surprised. And delighted."

Teagan felt heat creeping into his cheeks and his dignity heading out the door, but he smiled gamely and replied, "Please give them my regards."

They were settled at a small table in the back of the main parlor, with a view of the room and its patrons. It was dimly lit, and Fergus removed his cloak and hood, grinning as he surveyed the group. Zevran looked as if he was casing the place for a future heist, Teagan thought, turning his gaze on his young charge.

Alistair's eyes were drilling holes in the table as he kept his head lowered. "It – it's cooler in here than I thought it would be," he mumbled without looking up.

Did Teagan tell him that was to make the women's breasts look perkier or that it made one consume more alcohol in the mistaken belief that it would warm one up? Or that it made one decide more quickly on just who would be taken to one of the rooms upstairs? He shook his head and grabbed his glass of whiskey. Baby steps, he decided, throwing the whiskey back. It burned all the way down, thank the Maker.

"What's Elissa doing this evening?" Alistair asked, managing to raise his eyes just high enough to look at Fergus.

"She's paying Joss a visit. She said she had a lot of questions for Joss. I decided not to inquire further."

"Wise, as well as handsome," Zev admired, raising a toast to Fergus.

Yes, a long night indeed. "Drink up, Alistair," Teagan urged. "It's impolite not to drink to the toast."

"Oh. Oh right. This is me, drinking," the young man replied and downed his own whiskey in one, fiery gulp. To the amazement of the others, he neither shuddered nor choked, setting his empty glass down on the table with great care.

"Well, well, my chantry boy. You will have to explain how you hold your liquor," Zev said, voicing Teagan's thoughts perfectly.

"By the ea…oh, I see what you're saying," Fergus said and then took a minute to explain what he meant to a mortified Alistair, who cried out for another drink. "Immediately," the young man added with a gulp.

"Do you have even a basic understanding of what women want?" Teagan asked, once the second whiskey had found its way into his blood. Alistair, a look of panic flaring briefly, cast his eyes down to study his empty glass.

"You mean…you mean…" Alistair fumbled, gulping loudly. He trailed off, rubbing the tops of his thighs nervously and when Zevran flashed the young man an engaging, if somewhat suggestive, smile, Alistair's hands fairly flew off his thighs to land on the table, where they clutched each other nervously.

"This notion that sex must not be discussed is one the Chantry instills, my handsome Warden, but it is not natural. Discussing sex, partaking of sex, thinking of sex…these are all normal."

Teagan leaned forward, wondering if it was too soon for another drink, and deciding it probably was. His head was already beginning to feel disconnected from his body. "At least in the appropriate manner and venue," he amended with a quick glance at Zevran.

"So, my dear Alistair, you know the basic mechanics, yes?" Zev continued, grinning wickedly at the young man who was shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

"I did live in a stable, of course I know the basics," Alistair grumbled, raising his hand and beckoning the serving girl over for another round.

"Are you sure that's wise?" Teagan asked, eying his own glass. He blinked several times, and the gauzy halo around everything receded. Why was he feeling the effects while Alistair seemed immune?

"If you know then why haven't you acted upon it? Surely you know Elissa wishes it," he added, refusing to glance at either Zevran or Fergus, but hearing the latter's snicker clearly above the hubbub.

Alistair's blush radiated outward with enough heat in his cheeks to steep tea. Teagan tried again. "There is no shame in the act, Alistair."

Alistair spluttered and choked, reached for his glass and downed the contents in one loud gulp. "I – I – we shouldn't be talking about her like this," he stammered. He cast a glance at Fergus, and Teagan allowed himself to do the same.

"Oh, bollocks, as Joss likes to say. I'm her brother, not some revered mother," the young teyrn chortled loudly, drawing several interested looks their way.

"Be gentle, but firm," Teagan began, only to be interrupted by Zevran.

"Firm? Yes, definitely firm, my dear Alistair. One could almost say you should take a hard line in this matter."

"I'll try but every time I am around her I get all st…" Alistair began only to be interrupted.

"Stiff?" Fergus interjected before a loud gust of laughter overtook him.

"Stupid," Alistair mumbled around yet another blush.

Teagan's cheeks began to hurt for the poor lad. Why had he asked the other two to accompany him? Whatever the reasoning, it was apparently flawed. Before he could address that issue, Fergus leaned forward, pointing a finger at Alistair.

"First one to get Alistair to actually say the word 'sex' without his blushing or stammering gets to name their reward," he announced with a sly grin at Teagan.

A bloody bad idea, that's what this is, Teagan thought, shoulders slumping slightly. He'd already lost any control he might have had. He rubbed his forehead and sighed. "Alistair, Joss was right when she told you someone who can't say the word shouldn't actually do it either. If you truly care about Elissa, it's time to man up."

"I can too say it. That word. You know which one I mean."

"There are so many ways to express it. You don't have to say that particular word."

"That is true, my friend. I know more than three dozen ways to express it in words. I prefer a more pleasurable way to express it, however," Zevran finished with a leer in Fergus's direction.

"Now, Zev, you know I promised to behave while we're in Denerim," Fergus replied, leaning forward to drop a light kiss on the elf's upturned lips.

Teagan waved the waitress over for another round. At least it wasn't hitting him as hard as the dwarven ale had. And it didn't seem to be affecting Alistair at all. "How are you feeling, Alistair?"

"Fine. I feel great. You sound a little bit tipsy, Uncle Teagan," the young man announced with a grin, his nerves calmed now that the subject was on safer ground.

"Indeed? I assure you, I am quite sober," Teagan said with as much dignity as he could find. As if anything about the evening was dignified. Who was he trying to fool? He shook his head and leaned forward. "Back to the subject at hand."

"Or _in_ hand, as it were," Fergus interjected with a broad wink and grin.

Picking at the nicks in the table top with nervous fingers, Alistair shrugged. "I just think that …you know…the act should be private, between two people in a respectful way."

"Maker's breath, Alistair, just say the word! Keep saying it until you're comfortable saying it," Teagan admonished, his patience apparently on hiatus.

"Why? Why is it so important to say the word? I know what it is, I know the mechanics, I know Elissa wants me…to…that she wants us to…stop _looking_ at me like that," Alistair added, glancing around the room with a desperate look in his eyes.

Teagan felt a stirring of sympathy for the young man but plowed ahead. "Alistair, what you do with Elissa is absolutely as private as you want it to be, but, in order for it to be private, something actually has to _happen_. Until you can say the word, I can't foresee you performing the act, either," Teagan found himself saying, much to the amusement of his companions.

Sanga came to the table, smiling, and placed a bottle of whiskey on the table. "You lot look entirely too sober. Drink up," she urged.

While Teagan's drinking tapered off to no more than a sip now and then, Alistair's increased, at the urging of Fergus, who was having entirely too much fun at the expense of his future brother-in-law. Zev, hand resting lightly on Fergus's thigh, seemed sober and content. Teagan wondered how to get Alistair past the 'sex' hurdle.

"Alistair, is there _any_ word or phrase you feel comfortable saying with regard to sex? Some phrase you and your fellow initiates used during your studies? _Anything_?" Maker's breath, he sounded desperate.

Alistair blinked and lifted his glass to Teagan. A grin both cocky and youthful settled on the young man's face. "Teagan, I'm gonna tell you a little shecret…" he slurred, leaning forward.

Whatever had kept Alistair from feeling the effects of the alcohol had deserted him in his hour of need, and Teagan watched with a mixture of amusement and apprehension as the young man swayed in his seat.

"Shexsh," Alistair whispered and if the whole room had gone still it couldn't have been quieter. The buzz of conversation disappeared.

"I'm sorry?"

"Shexsh."

"Did you just say what I think you said?"

"SHEXSH!" Alistair shouted triumphantly. He slammed his fists on the table and shouted it again.

"By George, I think he's got it."

There was much merriment as a blushing Alistair continued to repeat the word for any and all who'd listen. Fergus slapped his leg, grinning. "He's got it, he's got it," he agreed merrily.

"And now it appears that our young friend is not going to be quiet until he has it," Zev agreed with a wicked grin.

Sanga came over to the table. "Yes, dear boy, I understand you want sex. Have you decided who you want it to be with?"

Teagan groaned, holding his breath as Alistair stared at the woman in horror. "No. No, no, no. I didn't mean…I meant…I don't want…Teagan!" the young man wailed, his face once more crimson. "Make her go away."

Sighing, Teagan shook his head and smiled an apology at Sanga. "Another night, perhaps."

Moments later, settled in the carriage, Alistair already nodding off as the whiskey finally hit him, Teagan turned to his companions.

"If I ever suggest doing something like this again, you have my permission to tie me up and gag me."

"Ah, my handsome bann, always you tease."

"Ever," Teagan added emphatically.

"Nonsense, Teagan, it was great fun. We should do it again soon."

"_Ever_," Teagan reiterated over Zevran's breathy chuckle and Fergus's boisterous laugh.

"I believe you won the wager, Teagan. Name your reward."

"One calm day and night," Teagan muttered, feeling gritty and ill-used.

Alistair opened an eye and winked at Teagan before nodding off as the carriage jolted along the cobblestones.

Teagan felt a chuckle rumble in his chest. Great fun, indeed.


	49. Chapter 49

**A/N: **_Lisa, you are a beta godsend. Thank you for your help with this behemoth of a chapter. _  
_For those interested, the mystery of who Brin is (or at least part of it) will be revealed in the next chapter of The Terrors of the Tower, which will be from Brin's PoV for the most part. I hope to have it published within the next few days._

**The Good, the Bad and the Ugly**

"High noon? What does that even mean? Is there a low noon? What's the difference between the two? Is there really such a thing? " Joss asked, waving the vellum announcing the Landsmeet in the air.

She was blathering. And dithering, come to that. Teagan put a steadying hand on her shoulder, and, to his credit, did not pat it comfortingly. That provocation would not have gone unanswered. All her companions, and a great deal of the staff, had disappeared as soon as they'd caught wind of her mood. Which was terribly rude and cowardly of them.

The Landsmeet had been scheduled for high noon the following day. Would her plans blow up in her face or actually go smoothly for a change? She suspected she already knew the answer, based on empirical evidence: it would be an unmitigated disaster. Unless, of course, Howe showed up wearing the ensemble he'd worn in his dream.

"My dear, there is nothing to worry about."

Snorting inelegantly, Joss whirled around to face her noble, if a bit naïve, husband. "Nothing to worry about? Have you _met _me?" She chose_ not_ to ignore the apprehension that momentarily flashed in his eyes. She put her hands on her hips, glaring at him, before continuing.

"I saw that! Not that I blame you, necessarily; it isn't as if our time together has been all raindrops and roses. Which is not to say we haven't had plenty of raindrops and a few roses…Maker's hind tit! I'm blithering and dathering again…no, wait…I mean blathering and dithering…stop laughing, you wretched man," she finished, her smile suddenly reappearing and settling on her lips with stubborn determination. She carelessly tossed a lightning bolt in his direction, which he neatly sidestepped, his brow cocking at a rakish angle. The lightning bolt fizzled against the marble mantelpiece, sending a figurine of a shepherdess teetering dangerously. Without hesitation she cast a paralyzing spell on it and then carefully put it back in its place.

"My dear, look at all you've achieved in your journeys. You've killed high dragons, united the dwarves under one banner, freed people from a centuries-old curse, saved Connor…"

She shut him up the only way she could think of…by planting her lips firmly on his. When she had accomplished her objective, she stepped back and shook a finger at him. "Hush, you. You're biased in the extreme, and anything you say which is in the least bit complimentary is immediately suspect."

She watched as his eyes narrowed and his face took on a "don't make me stop kissing you to lecture you" severity. Could she get away with rolling her eyes? Did it matter if she couldn't? Not a whit. She rolled her eyes.

Before they could continue their fruitless discussion, Alistair came slouching into the room, as glum as a muddy cat. With a long-suffering sigh, he sank into a chair. Another sigh escaped him and then he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees with his chin in his hands. Joss glanced at Teagan, who shrugged. She returned her gaze to Alistair, waiting impatiently for him to explain why he felt compelled to barge in on their conversation and then not say anything. His mood was like a wet blanket on a humid day...oppressive.

"Andraste's flaming tongue, Alistair! What is the matter with you?" Joss heard herself ask with a large dose of exasperation. She shook her head and tried to gather her patience, which had obviously left the building.

"It's nothing," he said dolefully, another sigh escaping.

Joss allowed her jaw to relax, which had been forcing her teeth to grind against each other in her attempt not to verbalize her frustration.

"Is this about you and Elissa?" she asked suspiciously. "Didn't Teagan already talk to you about all of that?"

"Uhm…maybe?"

Without another thought, because her brain really couldn't handle another one, she strode over, grabbed him by his ear and hauled him out of his chair. "Alistair Theirin, you march yourself over to Eamon's this minute, grab Elissa, take her upstairs, and do what you need to do before there isn't time.

"The Archdemon isn't going to play pat-a-cake with us; it's going to try to kill us. It's massive, judging from the thing in my nightmares. Massive dragony Archdemons are much more likely to win a battle than scrawny little Grey Wardens.

"Of course, our death by Archdemon might be a moot point. There are those in the Landsmeet who would like to see your head, and mine, decorating the palace gates for treason, among other crimes. If somehow I messed up with the whole dream thing - and really what are the odds of that _not_ being the case - and Loghain comes down hard on the other side of friendly, we will be tossed into a dungeon until such time as they decide when and where to behead us." She paused to catch her breath before continuing.

"So, it all comes down to one simple question: do you want to die a virgin?" she finished, releasing her hold on his ear and glaring at him.

"No ma'am," he mumbled, rubbing his ear, eyes downcast, feet shuffling.

"Go! Now!" she commanded, pointing a finger at the door.

Alistair fairly flew out of the room, but stopped on the threshold and looked back at her. "I hate you," he announced, his eyes narrowed. She also noted his faint smile before he slipped out of the room, the door banging shut behind him.

Teagan collapsed into the vacated chair, laughter shaking his broad shoulders. She turned her glare on him. "What is so funny?" she demanded, but her traitorous lips were already beginning to twitch upwards as his laughter subsided.

He pulled her onto his lap, nuzzling her neck, refusing to answer, but as he was distracting her from blathering and dithering, she didn't mind. At. All.

"It needed to be said," she defended, gathering her dignity around her like a tattered shawl.

"Indeed," Teagan replied quietly, with just the tiniest bit of a snicker in his voice.

**~~~oOo~~~**

Sleep claimed her early, to her surprise. She drifted off in the middle of Teagan's reassurances that the Landsmeet would go swimmingly. Well, sure, because as a mage she'd never actually learned _how_ to swim.

Her dreamscape was, of all things, a small manse set in a thicket of trees. It was the place she'd been born, the place Joseph spent his first ten years. She wandered through the house, which appeared empty, finally making her way to the kitchen. A rotund woman stood at a table rolling out dough, singing softly.

"Cook Killdare?" Joss asked in surprise. It must be the extra helping of sweetmeats I had, she thought. Cook Killdare had died even before the insurrection in the Tower: she'd choked on a chicken bone one night at dinner.

The woman's hefty girth shook as she laughed. "Well! Look at you, married and with child. Never thought to see the day, young Joss."

Creepy became creepier when Joss noticed another woman sitting in a rocking chair by the crackling kitchen fire. Where had she come from? Was now a good time to wake up? She was fairly certain it was, but her limbs felt weighted and she stood where she was.

The woman in the rocking chair glanced in her direction. She was very pretty, in an exotic way, with long black hair and golden eyes. There was a haughtiness in her demeanor, especially when she tilted her head in Joss's direction.

"Maker's balls, Morrigan! What are _you _doing here?"

A silky black brow rose and a pair of lush red lips pursed. "Do you really not recognize me? Or your home?" the woman asked in an all too familiar voice.

"Andraste's sagging arse! What are _you_ doing here?" Joss asked again, hands on hips. Morrigan, and Flemeth – in her current incarnation – could be twins, and that was a thought that made a shudder run through her not once, but twice. Actually, it was more like chills dancing the Remigold along her spine.

"Are you truly so confident that your little trips into the Fade were successful, Josslyn? Perhaps others have already undone all that you've managed," the old woman wearing a young woman's body cackled. She continued with a wave of her hand, "Oh, but why think about that now? After all, tomorrow is another day."

"If you've come to make me nervous, it won't work. I don't think I can _be_ any more nervous," Joss announced, stepping back with a toss of her hair. Maker's brittle bones, what was wrong with her? Why was she antagonizing the mean, evil witch? Before discovering the reason, she continued. "Besides, you don't actually have any power over me." _Oh, nice and sassy! The Wicked Witch of the Wilds won't be upset by that. At. All. And hopefully she can't see my heart jumping around in my chest like a frog on a burning lily pad_.

"You believe that if it helps you sleep, Josslyn. But tell me, child, do you not want to know why Brin was in the Tower and who he really was?"

Of course she wanted to know. She'd always wanted to know. She blinked. Actually, now that she thought about it, she was absolutely, positively, without a doubt, not in the least curious, which was a bit of a shock. Whatever Brin had been, whatever reason he'd been in the Tower, didn't matter because he'd been dead for more than ten years. When had she stopped wanting to know? She shrugged, not sure, but she _was _sure that she was done playing _that_ particular game with Flemeth.

She spoke up, her tone slathered with contempt. "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn."

For a moment, the dreamscape wavered and shimmered as Flemeth gave a great shout of laughter. "So, you think you've won. Let me assure you, this is not over."

Joss shook her head and crossed her arms, trying to come up with something clever to say, but, before she could, Cook Killdare began to sing in her boisterous and extremely cheerful voice. Joss glanced at the obese woman in her voluminous apron, and then at Flemeth.

"Oh, I think it is," she replied smugly before she started to walk away. If she was wrong, it would be a very short walk. She chose to ignore the mocking laughter that echoed all around her. Of course, it couldn't be that easy. The bitch.

**~~~oOo~~~**

Alistair sauntered in to the dining room with a disgustingly proud and cocky grin perched on his lips. There was absolutely no need to ask if he and Elissa had been together the night before. If the cocky grin or the swagger didn't give it away, the deep purple mark on his neck surely did. Joss dared not look at Teagan, who was clearing his throat rather loudly and insistently, trying to keep his laughter at bay, just as she was.

She searched her brain for something intelligent to say, something a big sister might say. "It's about bloody time," she remarked. "And you'll want to either ask Wynne to heal that mark or wear something with a high neck," she added, before returning to her tea and toast.

"I – I don't know what you mean," Alistair protested, clapping a hand over the portion of his neck that housed the nefarious love bite.

"Of course you don't. That's why it's taken you so long," she agreed cheerfully.

Teagan snorted his tea, which led to a coughing fit, which led to Alistair leaping from his chair to thump him loudly – and painfully, judging by Teagan's expression – on the back, which led to the maid tripping on Alistair's overturned chair, which led to a plate of red currant tarts flying across the table to land on Joss. Several smacked her in the face before landing in her lap. One struck her cheek and slid down her neck to rest on her shoulder.

The maid was mortified, her cheeks very nearly as red as the red currant currently residing on Joss. A hush fell over the room as all eyes turned to Joss. What, did they expect her to turn the terrified maid into a toad? Set her on fire? She tried to smile around the gelatinous goo sliding down her cheek. She'd certainly had worse on her skin, after all. She glanced at Teagan, whose face was an interesting contrast of horror and pity. The maid had her fingers pressed to her mouth, as if to stifle the inarticulate sounds emanating from there. It wasn't working. Alistair, a wild look in his eyes, was casting about for something else to stare at.

"Maker's moldy mustache! It's just a few tarts," she said, brushing at the goo with a serviette.

Of course, if she'd been in her right mind, she'd have jumped up and tried to save her skin from becoming stained by the red currants. By the time she realized why Teagan was looking at her with such sympathy in his blue eyes, the damage had been done. There were exactly three hours and thirty-six minutes before the Landsmeet was called to session. Not nearly enough time to create an unguent that would remove the red streaks from her hair or face.

That wouldn't stop her from trying. Besides, the country was in the midst of a Blight and a civil war. Surely the nobles had better things to do than point and laugh at her red streaks. She hoped.

**~~~oOo~~~**

Staring at herself in the mirror, she wondered if anyone would notice the red streak that ran from below her right eye all the way down her cheek to disappear into the high collar of her pale green gown. Another red slash of currant juice had stained the bridge of her nose. The left side of her face looked as though she'd broken out with the measles. Maker, she looked like one of the Rivaini witches she had read about, who wore bright slashes of paint on their faces to attract the demons they sought to converse with. Her hair, neatly pulled into its customary chignon, was streaked with red as well. There would be no arguing if someone called her a redhead this day. If she'd only had her laboratory, she was sure she would have found a remedy.

There was nothing Teagan could say to reassure her, and it wasn't as if she hadn't been nervous about everything anyway. On the plus side, she didn't feel the least bit nauseous so Teagan's boots were probably safe. She shared that information with him and he laughed, completely at ease. The bastard. She hated how much she loved him because right about then he could have used a strong bolt of lightning on his backside.

They were escorted from their house to the Landsmeet Hall by Ser Cauthrien and Loghain's personal guard, which made Joss nervous in the extreme. Ser Cauthrien looked like she could single-handedly arm-wrestle the Archdemon for drinks and win. And she still wasn't sure who was more surprised by Loghain's gesture.

The woman, known as the Hand of Loghain – and Joss didn't want to know just _how_ the woman came by that title – was tall and proud; fierce in her loyalty to Loghain. Joss was certain if she hurt Loghain, Cauthrien would cut her down without hesitation. The gigantic sword resting on the woman's back was probably sharp enough to slice through the Archdemon's leathery skin without effort. The woman's arms must be enormous to be able to swing such a sword, and a number of ribald jokes regarding large swords and the wielders thereof came to mind. Not that she was about to share them, or anything else that might be construed as light-hearted banter. Cauthrien didn't seem the type to appreciate Joss's particular brand of humor.

As they traveled from the estate to the palace, she heard a deep, rhythmic beating in the distance and glanced at Teagan. "What is that noise?"

"Drums along the Hafter," Teagan responded, his hand still firmly holding her elbow. She supposed he was afraid she'd bolt and she really couldn't blame him; Maker knew she was tempted. "They mark the Crown's journey."

She wondered, for perhaps the hundredth time, if her companions were already at the Landsmeet Hall. Had they been able to keep Fergus's identity secret? She couldn't imagine, given the amount of scrutiny she was receiving, that they'd been able to, but, if Zev had anything to say about it, Fergus's secret was still safe.

She refrained from twisting around to see if Alistair was still following; he'd been there the last dozen times she'd looked, and he wasn't likely to have suddenly disappeared. He was dressed in his Grey Warden plate, looking ever so impressive, and wearing his love bite with great aplomb. There was still a bit of a strut in his walk, but she imagined most of the onlookers attributed it to his status as Grey Warden and bastard prince, not his status as a non-virgin. Unvirgin? Subvirgin? She sighed, trying to get her mind to stop running from pillar to post and settle on just one thought for more than a blink of an eye.

"These people don't look very impressed," Joss whispered, eyeing the crowd that lined their parade route.

"They're frightened by the advancing horde, and probably curious about you. You hardly look as scary as you've been made out to be."

Well, sure, because it was hard to look scary when one had red currant stains on one's cheek and nose, not to mention a long, artful streak on one's neck. Really, how had she managed to be Lucian Caravel's apprentice all those years and_ not_ learned how to concoct a decent stain remover out of tallow, talc and eye of newt or something? Oh right. She was an idiot. As if she needed a reminder of _that_.

As they continued on, someone in the crowd shouted, "Hang 'em high!" She stumbled a bit, and would have sprawled across the cobblestoned street had Teagan not tightened his grip on her elbow. Cauthrien nodded at her standard-bearer and he hoisted the Guerrin standard high in the air, where the colorful cloth fluttered in the breeze. Joss took a relieved breath or two, once her heart started beating again. She refused to look at Teagan, who was probably laughing at her.

There was nothing intimidating about the Landsmeet Hall. At. All. Oh, wait, yes there was! Immense, heavy iron-clad doors were opened with great pomp and circumstance, and the group, sans Ser Cauthrien and escort, stepped into the long, banner-lined room. Large, leaded windows ran the length of the room, and there was a large balcony on one side, filled with people in pretty clothing, chattering away. Maker's holy smalls! Were there so many nobles that they actually needed a balcony section? She looked around for the nearest exit.

"Teagan Guerrin, Bann of Rainesfere and Master of the Hunt! Lady Josslyn Winifred Amell Guerrin, Acting Commander of the Ferelden Grey Wardens! Alistair Theirin, Grey Warden!"

A loud flourish of trumpets drowned out anything Joss might want to say about the formal announcement, which was probably a good thing. After all, the hobnobbing nabobs and nobles didn't need to know just how few Grey Wardens there were. And, in fairness, she had tripled the number since she'd been in charge, if she counted Riordan. And at least there'd been no mention of Alistair being the bastard son of Maric in the announcement.

As she was led to an enclosed area near the main dais, she saw Eamon, squeezed into his armor, his face an unbecoming color often referred to as apoplectic purple by those in the Tower. He appeared to be studying the crowd's reaction to their arrival and gave them only a slight inclination of his head. For someone overflowing his armor, he really had no business behaving in so superior a manner, the swine.

She wondered how he'd actually managed to buckle into his breastplate. A picture of Eamon being shoehorned into his armor by a pair of servants almost undid her. She looked away with a slight choking noise. She found it curious that a man who'd been in a coma for months could look positively portly only a few weeks later. And what Isolde had seen in him to begin with was a complete mystery. She let her eyes settle on her husband and wondered if puffing out her chest and gloating about getting the handsome Guerrin would be too unseemly. Before she could act, a blare of trumpets sounded again.

"Loghain Mac Tir, General of the Ferelden Armies, Hero of River Dane, Teyrn of Gwaren, Regent and Factotum of Ferelden!"

"No wonder he always looks so cranky…what a load of titles to have to keep straight," she remarked in an aside. Teagan snorted softly and shifted imperceptibly, as if to protect her. She had no idea what she was being protected from, but she didn't tell him that. His need to keep her safe grew in direct proportion to the progression of her pregnancy, an observation she had shared with him that very morning. He had, of course, denied it.

She felt Alistair fidget impatiently beside her and she turned to him, making sure he wasn't about to attack the man he believed was largely responsible for Duncan's death. After months of discussing the culpability of those in charge of the debacle of Ostagar, his extreme prejudice had mellowed to a general hatred of Loghain. She could live with that. He knew what would transpire, and he had accepted it without his usual rancor. She suspected that had to do more with Elissa and Fergus than anything she might have said.

She placed a hand on his arm, met his gaze, and asked quietly, "Shall I send a bolt his way?"

"At least one," he replied with a gleeful glint in his eyes.

She nodded and whispered softly, moving her hands as inconspicuously as she could. The bolt, small and difficult to see in the crowded room, hit Loghain on his armored backside. She was surprised his neck didn't snap when he whipped it around to see who dared do such a thing. She flashed him her most dazzling smile. His footsteps faltered momentarily and his icy blue eyes narrowed suspiciously before he continued on to the dais, where he stood beside an ornately carved monstrosity of a chair.

One more reason for the man to look so damned depressed. The chair could not possibly be comfortable. At. All. Served the old curmudgeon right. She allowed her smile to stay where it was as Loghain's eyes swept the crowd once more before settling on her. She nodded in what she hoped was a regal, gracious manner, although she suspected there was entirely too much gloat in it to be truly gracious. He looked away but not before sneering at her once more.

As she looked around the hall yet again, she noticed that there were no other chairs present, save Queen Anora's high-backed throne. "Why isn't there any seating?" she asked Teagan.

"Years ago, before the Orlesian occupation, there were cushioned seats and small tables, but the Landsmeets would go drag on interminably. The more comfortable the nobles were, the longer the speeches and debates, extending the Landsmeets by days and even weeks. That is no longer an issue."

She opened her mouth to deliver a pithy rejoinder but was drowned out by the chamberlain's voice. "Anora Mac Tir Theirin, daughter of Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir, Dowager Queen of Ferelden."

It must be difficult for Anora to have fewer - and far less impressive sounding - titles than her father. One almost felt sorry for her. Almost. The queen entered, wearing a deep blue gown, trimmed in yellow silk, not a strand of golden hair out of place. She wore a yellow ribbon tied at her neck with what appeared to be a miniature likeness of the late and lamented King Cailan attached to it. Or it was a golden mabari. At this distance it was difficult to tell.

Anora smiled with a serene grace as she made her way into the chamber and up to the dais to stand beside her father. With a regal nod, she settled on her throne and her father did immediately took his chair, though he continued to scan the room with keen eyes. Who was he looking for? Everyone that was anyone was present, or so it seemed to Joss.

It was only then that she realized Arl Rendon Howe had not arrived. She met Loghain's eyes and frowned. He scowled at her and gave an infinitesimal shrug of his armored shoulders. She saw him motion to a soldier standing near the dais. The soldier snapped to attention and listened intently as Loghain whispered orders. Or so she assumed, given that the soldier immediately left the chamber, his face pale, his eyes the size of sovereigns.

"This emergency Landsmeet, requested by Arl Eamon Guerrin of Redcliffe, is now in session. All ye gather near and be heard," the chamberlain intoned ponderously.

Well, no wonder the sessions lasted so long, there was an open invitation to be heard. Idiots. A simple, "speak now or forever hold your peace" would have been much more effective. A grey haired man stood and glared at the assemblage.

"We should be preparing the city for war, not standing around this overheated hall jabbering at each other. I've lost enough already. What is the Crown doing to secure Ferelden?"

"Arl Wulff speaks true, but as long as Loghain sits on the throne, his daughter no more than a puppet, we will remain at war!" Eamon shouted over the general hubbub. Loghain shot out of his chair, his eyes cold enough to freeze any sane person in their tracks. Apparently sanity wasn't something Eamon possessed.

"Would you have your own puppet put on the throne?" Loghain asked disdainfully. He looked down his long, hawkish nose at Eamon, who didn't appear intimidated. The crazy ones never were. And she ought to know.

Then his words penetrated through her nerves and Joss felt her stomach and heart plunge down to her toes and possibly lower. He was supposed to renounce his title as regent and convince Anora to step aside or marry Fergus. What was he doing? Had she missed some vital words of the spell? For that matter, why was Eamon speaking so early? And Maker's purple pantaloons, where was Howe?

"A disaster," she whispered, wondering how many people she would have to toadify in order to escape with her head intact.

"Have a bit of faith, my dear."

She did…a very little bit, but she didn't bother arguing with Teagan. Instead, she searched the room for Fergus and Elissa, and her Wardens and companions. A small knot of people stood at the back of the room and she thought she saw a flash of golden hair on one of the many elven servants who stood near a table laden with food and drink.

"Alistair Theirin is the rightful heir to the throne. He's Maric's son!" Eamon blustered on, pointing a plump finger at Alistair, who looked ready to faint or run screaming from the room. She wasn't sure why he was nervous. He wasn't going to be the king, no matter what Eamon said. She patted him and gave him a reassuring smile. His face paled. She still needed to work on her people skills, apparently.

"Get ready to catch Alistair," she instructed Teagan. Teagan quietly and unobtrusively moved to stand on Alistair's other side.

And then, to her utter amazement, she heard a voice, sharp and clear, speak up, so rife with disgust that it dripped from each word.

"Andraste's chin whiskers! Listen to you two! There is an Archdemon headed this way! He's bigger than most of your estates! Yet we stand here arguing about who is going to be king? Seriously? If we don't unite the bloody armies and kill the Archdemon toot sweet, whoever is crowned will be the king of nothing!

"Eamon, do you pledge the armies of Redcliffe to the Grey Wardens or don't you? A simple yes or no will suffice. In fact, I insist on it.

"And you, General Factotum! Haven't you done enough damage? Do you pledge the combined armies of Ferelden to the Grey Wardens? Put up or shut up!"

There was a growing crescendo of noise assailing her ears when she finished, and she wondered if she wasn't going to faint after all, but it turned out to be nobles, stomping their feet. What did that even mean? She glanced at Teagan, who was smiling proudly at her. He really was the most biased man in Thedas. So, it seemed that her head was destined to remain on her shoulders. At least for the present. That was definitely a win.

After a lengthy pause, during which she could have knit a sweater for every one of her companions, or so it seemed, Eamon cleared his throat and nodded. "My armies are at your command," he consented in crisp, cold tones.

"As are mine," Loghain snarled, glaring at Eamon. Two classroom bullies, she thought with a chuckle. Which one would pull the wings off flies? Eamon, she was sure of it. There was a cruel set to his mouth. Was Teagan adopted? No two brothers could be more different.

Another wave of noise moved through the chamber as each noble pledged their support to the Grey Wardens and ending the Blight. "About bloody time," she hissed to her husband.

"This is hardly the time, but were it, I believe I would take you to bed in celebration," he replied with a hint of a leer in his smile. She thought longingly of their big soft bed back at the townhouse and sighed. If only. But it was definitely incentive to hurry things along.

"Now, we must resolve the issue of who will lead Ferelden," Eamon began pompously, the imperious tilt of his head denoting his social rank.

"I believe I can answer that!" a booming voice spoke up from the back of the chamber. The man, wearing the armor of the Queen's Guard, removed his helmet and shook out his shaggy brown hair. A hushed gasp circled the room and then a general roar descended as everyone began to talk at once. Elissa stepped out from a small nook at the back of the room, her smile radiant and just the faintest bit smug.

"Anora, as you were never more than the Queen Consort, and are now the _Dowager_ Queen, you have no legitimate claim to the throne. In addition, you conspired or did allow such conspiracy between Rendon Howe and Loghain Mac Tir to sell elves into slavery in order to fund the Civil War and ensure the Crown's coffers remained full.

"Upon King Maric's death, this body of august nobles decreed that the Cousland line best represented the ideals of King Calenhad, especially as our blood can be traced to him.

"My father refused, but the document is a matter of record. I hereby claim right of succession and demand an immediate vote by the Landsmeet."

Without thinking, because, really, why should now be different, Joss shouted, "Huzzah!"

Now, if Howe would just show up, the Landsmeet would be over and the business of ending the Blight could get started. Of course nothing was ever _that_ easy.

"You have no more right to the throne than I do," Anora protested in a cool, silk-clad voice.

"You are welcome to remain as Queen, should you marry me. However, if you agree, there will be some rules and provisions you might not approve of. We can discuss that later."

"We'll discuss it now," she proclaimed regally.

"Do you really wish to discuss those provisions in front of the entire Landsmeet?" Fergus asked, the humor returning to his voice.

"I think this discussion is pointless until such time as the Landsmeet has voted," she replied haughtily. The poor woman seemed confused as to whether to have the discussion or not. She also thought Anora and Morrigan had attended the same school of superiority but she kept that thought to herself.

A babble of voices filled the room to the rafters and any argument for or against Fergus was lost to the general racket. A headache was beginning to form at her temples and she was fairly certain her ankles were swelling. Impatience became her best friend. She tapped her foot, shook her head, tried to interject a comment or two and finally put a finger and thumb in her mouth and gave a high-pitched and very loud whistle. Silence descended immediately.

"Time is too short for all this nonsense," she began, but before she could say more the doors opened.

The chamberlain, his voice hushed and quivering slightly, announced: "Rendon Howe, Arl of Amaranthine and Denerim, Teyrn of Highever!" The man sounded as if he was strangling on his tongue.

At least Howe had taken her advice; he wore a deep burgundy gown with a pale pink girdle. The high neck was much more attractive as it covered his hairy chest most admirably. The train of his gown twitched with each step forward into the chamber. The nobles took a collective step back, away from the aisle where Howe was making his grand entrance. Arl Bryland, or at least Joss thought that's who it was, was muttering under his breath and she strained to hear him.

"One singular sensation, every little step he takes."

What did that even mean? Not that she wanted to know, really, because he seemed a little too interested in a sashaying Rendon Howe for her comfort, and she was fairly liberal in her world view. She glanced at the noble again and saw that he was mesmerized by the lady in red. Or man. Or whatever. A great shudder went through the rest of the crowd and Howe smiled, inclining his head slightly.

"I see you shiver with antici…pation," he breathed, tossing his hair coquettishly. Or maybe he just had a nervous tic, Joss couldn't be sure.

"The Butcher of Highever wears women's clothing?" Bann Alfstanna queried, her laughter barely contained. "Oh Maker, this is the best Landsmeet ever!"

Joss decided she liked the woman and said so to Teagan.

"I am hardly surprised, my dear. She's always appreciated a good laugh." Teagan looked highly amused as well, the hint of laughter hovering around him like a bevy of bees. She linked arms with him, finally able to relax and enjoy the fruits of her labor.

Fergus stepped forward. "Rendon Howe, you are hereby charged with high treason and various other crimes and misdemeanors. Guards, take him into custody!" he commanded, his voice ringing with authority and kingliness.

"You can't decide that, _I'm_ still the queen and Father is the regent!" Anora protested disdainfully. Her voice was the tiniest bit shrill, which pleased Elissa, judging by the grin taking up residence on her lips.

The future ex-queen glared at Fergus. He grinned boyishly, nodded and then marched forward, once again addressing the gathering of nobles, who were still whispering and muttering and trying to come to terms with what they were witnessing. Joss almost felt sorry for them, their world had been rocked.

Fergus held up his hands and the gathering hushed as one. "I ask you to vote immediately. Lady Josslyn is correct: there is no time for all this nonsense."

She liked his take-charge manner and his decisiveness. Anora, whose face wore the unmistakable look of someone who'd been forced to eat a plate of worms, came to stand beside him, not deigning to say another word on her own behalf. Joss suspected the woman saw her defeat as inevitable.

The vote was nearly unanimous. Even Loghain, with an apologetic shrug in his daughter's direction, voted for Fergus. There were only two who voted for Anora. One was a whiny, sniveling little sycophant named Ceorlic, who didn't necessarily want Anora as queen, but thought all was lost without the Hero of River Dane at the helm. Sure, because things had been going extremely well since he'd become regent. The man was clearly demented.

The other was Rendon Howe, who, by Joss's reckoning, shouldn't have been allowed to vote. He was definitely more than just a sock shy of a pair. Truly, his one remaining sock was holey and hanging by a few threads. At most. He claimed that Anora was the very personification of elegance and beauty. She deserved to be queen on that alone. Besides, he'd added, she had a good eye for color.

Loghain actually looked relieved by the vote and immediately pledged his services to Fergus. Howe took exception, stamping his foot, which broke the heel of his dainty shoe. He pitched forward and for a minute Joss thought he was going to fall and break his neck. That would have seemed a fitting, if ignoble, end to his colorful life. It was Arl Bryland who reached over and steadied the man.

Before Bryland could make his intentions known, supposing he had any, the guards came up and seized Howe. He could be heard muttering, "But I feel pretty, oh so pretty," as he was ushered from the hall. Joss's laughter welled up, threatening to burst forth and she tamped it down, hoping that they could leave sooner, rather than later.

Moments after Loghain was asked to continue in his role as general of the combined armies, he made his way to her, his back stiff and expression dour. "I may have been hasty in ordering your arrest after Ostagar. However, madam, I stand by my original assessment of your hair." His voice was as cold as a winter wind. She winked at him. His eyes widened.

She took in his appearance. His armor was meticulous, not a spot or mar or dent anywhere, each piece in its proper place, with absolutely no slippage at all. Andraste's flabby arse! Even his braids were perfectly symmetrical. What a fussy old man. And yet, somehow, she felt a stirring of sympathy for him, though she had no idea why.

His eyebrow rose higher as they studied each other. "You are a worthy opponent," he conceded reluctantly. "However, one more bolt from you and I'll be forced to take drastic measures."

"Duly noted, General Loghain," she replied, lips wanting to tilt upwards. She commanded they not do so. They disobeyed her, the traitors. With a stiff bow and a very tiny smile, Loghain walked away, but not before demanding they meet for a strategy session within the next two days. Well sure, because strategy was most definitely her forte. Or, you know, not.

Eamon stormed up as soon as Loghain departed the chambers. He shook a rather plump finger at her, his face still a shade of mottled purple that did not bode well for his health. Not that she'd tell him that, the craven, cretinous, corpulent cur.

"This is all _your_ fault, you Maker forsaken harlot!" he bellowed. Oh nice, just loud enough for the entire landsmeet to hear. She wondered how far back she'd have to bend his finger before it broke as he continued to wave it in front of her face.

As it turned out, she didn't get the chance. Teagan's fist slammed into Eamon's face with that sickening crunch that spelled doom for a nose. Eamon crumpled to the floor, clutching his proboscis and howling like a demented she-wolf. Joss silently promised to apologize to Morrigan for that thought, but later. For now, she was too busy sending her meager healing stream into her husband's rapidly swelling fist.

"No, Eamon, the fault is mine, for putting up with you. I thought I had to because of the Guerrin name. You were my brother and I would have done anything to please you, but never again. As far as I'm concerned you are no longer my brother. If you hadn't been so desperate to wrest the throne from 'those upstart Mac Tirs,' as you refer to them, none of this would have happened.

"And if you ever, _ever_ impugn my wife again, a broken nose will be the least of your worries. Now leave before you manage to further disgrace the Guerrin name."

Eamon stormed from the Landsmeet Hall without a backward glance, though his storm was actually more of a drizzle as he was clutching his nose, groaning, and his armor creaked as if in protest. Only with great restraint did Joss keep from toadifying him on his way out. Instead, she buried her face in the crook of Teagan's shoulder, and he wrapped an arm around her waist.

"Please tell me you are laughing and not crying," he whispered, his voiced edged with something akin to panic.

She wasn't entirely sure, but she was content enough to stay where she was as the nobles jockeyed for position in King Fergus's court. Maybe, if she was lucky, she'd be home – what an odd thought that still was – in time for supper.

It would be recorded in the annals as the shortest Landsmeet in history. There would be no mention of Rendon Howe's entrance and predilections. Nor would there be mention of the agreement between Anora and Fergus, but there would be mention of Zevran Arainai becoming the King's personal bodyguard.

It was a position, he later told Joss, that he was born to hold.


	50. Chapter 50

**A/N: **_This chapter is not entirely light-hearted joy. It is, after all, about the days leading up to the Battle of Denerim. And we all know how well Joss deals with stress. Oh wait, no she doesn't! One more chapter after this.  
Thank you to all of you who've followed this long, rambling story of a misfit mage. Your comments and encouragement have been inspirational.  
Thank you, Lisa, for the beta and hand-holding! You are amazing. _

**Long Day's Journey into Blight**

"Our son would disagree," Teagan said, resting his hand lightly on the gentle swelling of her stomach.

"You've had conversations with our son?" Joss asked, disbelieving, humor sheathing her words.

Teagan's blue eyes crinkled in amusement but there was a certain paternal pride in his smile. "Frequently."

"You realize that he isn't any bigger than a potato, right?"

Another smile lit his face. "Perhaps a large potato," he said, patting her tummy. She growled at him. He leaned in and kissed the growl away. "He needs to know about his parents," he reasoned. "I think it best to prepare him before his arrival."

They were in bed, and even though there were a thousand and one things to do, Joss found she was quite content to stay where she was, wrapped in Teagan's arms, sunlight streaming through the gauzy curtains that she had, so far, managed _not _to set on fire.

Aubrey had grown bold enough to leave their tray on the small table just inside the door, although she ran like a scalded cat the minute the tray was settled on the table. Still, it was a sign of progress that she no longer left it outside with one timid knock to announce its arrival before scampering down the hall to safety.

In fact, if she was the gloating type, Joss would be reveling in the fact that none of the staff had quit once she'd taken up residence, although she suspected Teagan had offered a monetary incentive to ensure that. Still, she was becoming housebroken, she was sure of it. Or mostly sure. As if. She would probably never be housebroken and the thought of leading a mundane, noble life made her shudder. Teagan decided a kiss would help. It certainly didn't hurt.

Disgustingly content, she sighed and glanced at the streamers of light dancing across the room. "I suppose we have to get up and get dressed before the general of generals arrives. Although, now that I think about it, the look on his face, should we conduct the meeting here and in our current state of undress, would be well and truly worth it."

An eyebrow shot skyward. "You are joking, aren't you?"

She matched his raised brow, and raised him one. "Am I? He _is_ rather attractive, in a totally martial and utterly aloof way."

"You're lusting after Loghain?" her husband asked, his voice an exotic blend of humor, surprise, interest and desire.

Teagan was the perfect man for her, she thought again. For one thing, he rarely ran from her, even when she was at her craziest. For another, he wasn't afraid of discussing matters of sex - which was a refreshing change - and even less afraid of discussing and fulfilling fantasies. Yes, he was definitely a keeper. Not that she would let him know that.

"Did I say I was lusting? I merely remarked on his male attractiveness. If you'd prefer I could go about wearing a blindfold?"

Another kiss, which led to a series of gropes, gasps and groans, was interrupted by a knock on their door. "We need to kill the bloody Archdemon so we can run away. Far away," she grumbled.

"Teagan? Are you in there?" Alistair asked.

"Teagan's not here," Joss lied cheerfully, still busy groping her husband.

"But I hear him. It is him I hear, right? I mean – I – I'll come back later."

"Thank you, Alistair!" Teagan called before returning his lips to her neck.

"Ah ha! So you are in there! Good, because I can't find Zevran and for a minute there, I thought maybe…you know what? I'm just going to go downstairs now."

Her groping gave way to laughter. "I would have thought he'd have learned more than that, by now. Hasn't he spent the past three nights with Elissa? What have they been doing? Playing cards?"

He said nothing, merely kissed his way down her neck and beyond, to trail tender kisses along her belly, which made her giggle as his beard tickled her sensitive skin. "You do that on purpose," she accused, struggling not to be overcome by laughter.

"Do what, my lovely lady?" he asked, looking up the length of her with a wide-eyed smile.

The pillow hit him square on the nose. Without a second's hesitation, he grabbed it out of her hands and tossed it aside, before returning to his earlier pursuits. Who was she to complain? Instead, she found herself encouraging him. Loudly.

"Loghain?" he asked some time later as they lay catching their breath.

"Who?" she queried, eyes drifting shut, but not before seeing an insufferably smug expression settle on Teagan's face at her answer.

**~~~oOo~~~**

Pacing around the 'war room' as the library had been dubbed, Loghain snapped his gloves against his hand, his sneer firmly entrenched.

"Orlesians," he muttered, and Joss was expecting an eye roll for emphasis at the remark, but he was apparently too dignified to do so.

Joss would never understand his refusal to let Orlesian dogs lie. Besides, technically, Riordan wasn't Orlesian but she wasn't going to quibble with the Taciturn One over that. Instead, she gave a mental shrug and said, "I explained to Riordan that the combined abilities of a dozen mages would be more than enough to bring the dragon out of the sky. There's no need for him to leap tall buildings in order to gain the Archdemon's attention. We had far less help when bringing Flemeth to ground."

They were discussing strategy…again. She expected to be given a written test soon, to prove she knew what she was to do when the battle started. What she _wanted_ to do was hide under a bed in another city, but Loghain expected her to actually participate. He and Teagan had had words to say about that on more than one occasion. Teagan thought she actually should hide under a bed in, preferably in another city. Instead, she was going to be in the command center with Loghain, coordinating the battle. Well, sure, why not have the person with the least amount of military training commanding the war? Truly, she wondered at Loghain's sanity. And hers, now that she thought about it, since she'd agreed.

"Are you certain this witch of yours is correct?" Loghain demanded.

Morrigan was most assuredly not _her_ witch. The woman belonged to no one and it would be foolish in the extreme to think otherwise, as she had explained to the taciturn fellow several times. Still, a man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest.

"Yes, and don't ask again, unless you want to have a sudden craving for flies," she replied crossly.

While she might not be the most intelligent person in Thedas, neither was she the most ignorant, not that Loghain seemed to believe that. "Now, are you certain the evacuation is going to be complete by then?" she asked, giving him a bit of his own in return. She was sure he rolled his eyes briefly, or maybe it was just that she'd rolled her eyes again. Either way, she was tired of discussing strategy.

"The last ship departs tomorrow night," he replied succinctly.

Using the slaver's ships to evacuate Denerim had been a stroke of genius. She'd love to claim title to that but it had actually been Alistair's idea. Caladrius, a blood mage and leader of the slavers, was not terribly happy with the arrangement. Or rather, he hadn't been. She imagined he really wasn't thinking much of anything at present or for the foreseeable future. Death had a way of making thought nearly impossible.

Joss, accompanied by Alistair, Cathair and Randal, had gone in search of him after Loghain had sheepishly, and with great reluctance, admitted he knew where the mage might be. The Tevinter mage had made himself quite comfortable in the former Arl of Denerim's estate, now vacant as Urien Kendalls and son were dead, and Howe was well on his way to joining them. Caladrius hadn't been thrilled to see them. At. All. He'd tried bargaining with them by offering them untold wealth and power. They'd laughed at that. Next, he'd tried cajoling. He didn't have the voice for it and he came off as an overindulged child whining for more treats. They'd laughed again. Finally, he'd pulled himself up to his full height and threatened them with the wrath of his power as a Tevinter Blood Mage.

"Oh Maker's holy balls! Get over yourself!" Joss had exclaimed, her patience going up in smoke. "_Innah Ghawdah Daveedah! Toadioso Ad Nauseum!_"

They'd delivered the toad to Hahren Valendrian, the elder for the alienage, a few minutes later with instructions on how to prepare frog fricassee. "Do it quickly or you'll find yourself facing a blood mage," Joss had warned the elderly man.

Naturally, that had raised a brow and necessitated a brief explanation. Instead, Valendrian had decided to put Caladrius in a room with a number of rescued elves to see how that worked out for the blood mage. Joss suspected Caladrius had become a _bloody_ mage by the end of that encounter. Hours later, word had been sent that Caladrius was no more.

"The field hospital is ready?" Loghain asked as if it was the first time he'd made the enquiry and not the twentieth.

The Arl of Denerim's house, once divested of Blood Mage Caladrius, had been transformed into a hospital as it was located on a side street far enough away from where the armies planned on fighting to be considered safe. Not that Joss thought it was all that safe with Wynne in charge of it and Leliana lending a hand, but she kept that thought to herself. Loghain was such a worry-wart that there was no sense in making him stew about anything else, no matter how tempting it might be. And Maker knew he made it tempting.

They'd butted heads regularly, and she had zapped him more than once, which had not made the general happy. He was arrogant, opinionated, and had even less people skills than she did. How was that even possible? They did discover a mutual dislike of nobles, but given that he was one, and she was married to one, they didn't go on a bashing spree of all things noble, much to her disappointment.

"Is your daughter speaking to you yet?" she asked by way of reply. A slight dig never hurt anyone, she rationalized.

Rubbing his jaw, he gave her a brief, cool smile that almost made him look human. His voice quickly disabused her of that notion. It was as cold as one of her frost spells. "Her speaking to me, or not, has no bearing on your preparations for the upcoming battle."

"Ooh, ouch. You've wounded me yet again. Now, considering how badly the last battle that you led ended, how about you worry more about _your_ preparations and less about _mine_?"

Glowering at her, as if that was supposed to frighten her into submission, Loghain strode across the room to the large map pinned to the wall. "I've discussed the troop deployments with Fergus and that assassin of his –"

"You are referring to the assassin _you_ hired, am I right? You'd think you could remember his name, unless that's an age-related issue for you."

"Impertinent chi –"

"Maker's breath, will you two just agree to disagree? The plans are in place, everyone knows their respective roles, and baiting each other serves no-one," Teagan interjected forcefully.

She wondered if he had any idea how sexy he was when he asserted himself with such authority? She was tempted to grab his hand and drag him upstairs, but before she could even move in his direction, Seneschal Raoul entered the room, bowing formally.

"His Majesty, King Fergus the First!" he intoned ponderously.

Fergus swept into the room, his boyish grin firmly in place, Zevran at his side.

"The northern gates are reinforced and the Dalish archers have fortified their positions along the eastern wall . The dwarven army is prepared to move in behind the main body of the darkspawn once the southern gates are closed."

"What about the western flank?" Loghain prompted, as if those gathered in the library couldn't recite the entire battle plan.

"Redcliffe's men and the combined armies of the Bannorn are in position to counter any attack from the west."

"When can we expect an announcement?" Loghain barked, apparently not in the least intimidated by the king's presence, and changing the topic with dizzying speed.

"As soon as your daughter agrees to the terms of the contract."

Loghain shook his head, slamming a fist into his palm. "She's as stubborn as –"

"Her father?" Fergus interrupted with a chuckle. "Yes, I think we all know that."

"Impudent young pup," Loghain glowered, but not without a certain affection.

"Yes, yes," Joss interrupted impatiently, "he's impudent , I'm impertinent and you…hmmm…_you_ are irascible. Now, I think we've exhausted adjectives starting with the letter 'I,' don't you?"

"My lovely Warden, I believe you have overlooked a number of us," Zevran disagreed, giving her a woebegone look.

Really, elves had the most ridiculously long eye-lashes and they were not opposed to wielding them as a weapon. Joss intended to ignore him. Instead, she heard herself say: "Fine, fine. You are incorrigible."

"Without a doubt, Lady Josslyn," the king agreed.

"Ah, my sweet mage, I rather hoped for indefatigable," Zevran said with a sly glance at the general, who was looking put out, or perhaps put upon, Joss couldn't be sure. Andraste's frizzy hair, was the general actually blushing? She bit her cheek to keep from laughing.

"And our handsome bann?" Zevran prompted.

She glanced at her husband, smiling mischievously. "Insatiable," she responded without hesitation, watching the war between Teagan's pride and his innate good manners. Pride won out, and, since Loghain was nearly choking on his embarrassment, Joss considered it a win-win.

"We _must_ attend to reality. There is a horde descending on the city in two days. Would you defeat them with adjectives?" he finally demanded, tossing his gloves on a desk and glaring at each one of them in turn, before giving them a group glare.

"My, aren't you _intimidating_," Joss rejoined with a snicker, moving to the large table and taking her seat, if for no other reason than to finish the planning session and return to happier pursuits.

As they could all be dead in two days, there were a number of things she wanted to do before then. Included on that list was visiting the mages, who were being housed in the Cousland Denerim estate, along with a large contingent of templars. She wanted to bring Teagan along and show him off, although she claimed otherwise.

The plan was simple, according to Loghain. Joss wasn't sure, given his battle plans for Ostagar, if he was truly the right man for the job, but both Fergus and Teagan thought he was, and she'd bow to their knowledge of what made a good general and what didn't.

A group of twelve mages, the entire Grey Warden contingent, except for Joss, and half of the Highever Archers would place themselves on the top of Fort Drakon to lure the Archdemon to them. The mages and archers would concentrate on the dragon's left wing in order to bring it down. Once it was on the ground, the mages would turn their attention to the weak points and try to keep it frozen in place while the archers concentrated on hitting the exposed throat and eyes. As far as Joss was concerned the most important part of that mission was keeping Riordan alive long enough to die killing the Archdemon. She was not about to lose one of her Wardens to the deed, and she was still not entirely happy with Riordan, or, for that matter, his fellow Wardens who had remained safely in Orlais.

While the group at Fort Drakon was busy occupying the big guy, Oghren would be leading an army comprised of the Royal Guard and the Ferelden Irregulars on a mission to corral the darkspawn in the market area. Joss fervently hoped the fighting there would destroy the Gnawed Noble, or at least the sign regarding the need for shoes and shirts in order to be served.

When Joss had told Oghren about the mission, he'd belched loudly, scrubbed his face with his hands, and given her a very happy smile…

"_You're happy taking on a suicide mission?"_

"_Suicide is painless, toots, it's the living that's hard."_

"_Don't you dare think that way, you…you…red-head, you! So you lost Branka. It's not like she's the only woman in the world. So you're a disgraced warrior in the eyes of Orzammar. What do they know anyway? They actually enjoy lichen ale and baked bronto surprise! You belong here, with us, you meathead. So fight, and live, or by the Maker's twitching butt-cheeks, I'll come find your dead arse and make you regret dying!"_

_She wasn't sure who was more surprised by her lecture, but, as they sat side by side in the walled garden behind the townhouse, he'd bumped shoulders with her and grinned. "You're a bitch, but by the Ancestors, you're my kind of bitch!" he bellowed._

_She laughed at the insult that she considered a compliment, and they sat for several moments in companionable silence…_

Blinking, she returned to the present in time to hear her husband announce his desire to join Shayle, who had been tasked to hold the south gate. "No," she blurted out. "Not. Going. To. Happen."

Silence settled like a night in a mausoleum. Finally, nerves jingling and jangling, she leapt out of her chair and stormed out of the room because, for reasons she refused to examine, her vision was cloudy with tears. _Damned pregnancy's destroying my reputation as an unfeeling harridan. Oh wait, that's Wynne's reputation_.

Teagan was hot on her heels as she pounded up the stairs and threw the door to their room open with such force that it banged against the wall, causing the small table with the bud vase, in which a lovely lavender rose was residing, to topple, sending water and broken bits of glass in several directions at once.

"Josslyn," Teagan began softly, but she wasn't in the mood to hear his gallantry.

"If you think, for even a second, that I'll sit by and watch you risk your life, you're crazier than Leliana!"

"And if you think I'll sit by and do nothing, you don't know me as well as you ought to, my dear," he replied quietly, his entire manner unruffled, which seemed unfair…she felt extremely ruffled. And ragged, come to that.

Her silent tears became muffled little sobs, which infuriated her, which made her cry louder, until she was sitting on the floor, in the middle of the room, sobbing like a child. "You – you made me fall in love with you, damn it. You have an obligation to stay with me," she hiccupped around more sobs. She rocked back and forth, wishing she could just shut the tears off, but they were insubordinate, refusing to even slow down.

Ever the gentleman, Teagan sat down on the floor beside her and eased her into his arms. "My lovely wife, I have an obligation to fight for you, and for our son."

"Bollocks. You have an obligation to be his father, to be there when he needs to ask his father things that he can't ask his mother."

"Have faith in my abilities, Joss."

She sniffled, wiping at her face with the sleeve of her gown. "I won't be able to stand it if something happens to you," she confessed, staring at the floor because looking there wasn't nearly as likely to make her start crying again as looking at Teagan was.

"And that is the reason I'll make sure nothing does."

He tucked her head under his chin and they sat quietly for some time. Finally, Joss cleared her throat. "And I am totally becoming Zevran's lover if you die."

"Fair enough, my lady."

"And if anything happens to me, I give you permission to do the same," she added with a watery smile.

Laughter rumbled through his chest. "I'll bear that in mind."

When they returned to the war room, they discovered everyone had departed. Joss was left to wonder if a few womanly tears sent men scurrying away like frightened jackrabbits, just what were they going to do when they had to face spewing darkspawn? Granted, the darkspawn didn't usually fall into a blubbery mess of tears at the slightest provocation, but they oozed black blood and had wickedly sharp teeth.

Still, she was happy for the respite. Once she was sure her eyes were no longer red and puffy, she invited Teagan to come with her to visit the mages. He seemed surprised but more than willing and they set off a short time later.

The city was abuzz with activity. Homes were boarded up, barricades were being put into place, the tall ships in the harbor were all but gone, soldiers in heavy armor, light armor and all armors in between scurried along the cobblestones, calling out greetings and saluting. Joss couldn't tell who should or should not be saluted as she saw no identifying marks of rank on anyone but the soldiers all seemed to know who should be saluted and who didn't need to be.

As soon as she stepped into the Cousland estate, she felt the warm welcome of magic wash over her. She'd forgotten how sweet the scent of mana and lyrium was in a gathering of mages. She'd forgotten how at home she felt surrounded by her peers.

Petra came flying out of a room and threw herself into Josslyn's arms only to jump back, staring at Josslyn's slightly rounded belly. Or maybe a bit more than slightly, judging by Petra's expression.

"Holy Bride of the Big Guy," Petra breathed, staring at Joss's expanding waistline as if she was expecting Andraste herself to emerge. "You really are pregnant."

"Stop staring," Joss laughed, pulling Teagan forward. "Teagan, this gape-mouthed woman is First Enchanter Petra. She'll be overseeing your nephew when he goes to the Tower."

Teagan smiled and bowed. "It is an honor, First Enchanter Petra. Joss speaks very highly of you."

Looking flustered and flattered, Petra blushed and then pulled Joss along to see the others. To her relief, she didn't cry when she greeted her fellow mages. Naturally, Anders was not among them. He had used the confusion during Uldred's insurrection to escape…again, and had yet to be captured…again.

She also didn't cry when she found Greagoir, still looking grey and drawn from the ordeal in the Tower, sitting at a desk, scribbling away on a vellum. He stood immediately and came around the desk to examine her before he smiled gravely.

"It would seem that because you couldn't have me you settled for Bann Teagan, hmmm?" he asked gruffly, indicating her husband, a faint smile hiding beneath his stern expression.

"You know that isn't what I meant when I said I'd take you to bed," she muttered, glancing at Teagan, who was trying to smile around his curiosity. "And don't look at me like that, it's not what it sounds like," she told her husband, but her lips were already twitching upwards.

After a few minutes of catching up, because there was no way she would ever enter Greagoir's Fadescape to visit, she stood once more, finding she was much too nervous to sit for long.

"Josslyn, I have permanently assigned Bran to your service. He's aware of his new assignment and assures me he will continue to carry out his duties without reservation."

Teagan made a disapproving sound in his throat but Joss felt her grin stretch the muscles of her face. She was delighted. Not only did she have her own personal templar, but the Grand Cleric was probably very unhappy with the arrangement. That was definitely a win-win situation.

She wanted to hug the stodgy templar in front of her. He'd been there through every one of her ordeals as she was growing up, and every one of her triumphs until she'd left the Tower. Oh Maker's moldy mustache! She was not going to cry again! She cleared her throat and nodded.

"Are you staying with the mages or will you be fighting elsewhere?" she finally asked, disgusted with the tremor in her voice.

"Our duty is clear, Josslyn, you know that. We fight beside our mages."

"Good, because half the templars assigned to the Denerim chantry aren't worth the spit-cloth they use for their armor," Joss replied. "Possibly more than half. But I did see Ser Otto among them, and he sees better than any of the others, for all that he's blind. I'm hoping he will keep them in line."

Greagoir's iron-grey eyes narrowed. "You worry about your armies and I'll tend to the templars. Trust me in this matter."

Trust him? Of course she'd trust him, she always had. Andraste's pointy beard! Could she have one thought without a flow of tears accompanying them? She felt as if she was on one long farewell tour and the thought did not make her happy. At. All.

She left Teagan and Greagoir discussing the whys and wherefores of her being assigned her own templar and went to find Petra. She hadn't seen Chipper or Cullen in the group of templars and she was more than ready for a bit of Tower gossip.

She opened what she thought was the door that Petra had come out of earlier. Lawrence, Khurley and Maurice were grouped around someone else, who, from the smell of it, was working with lyrium. She stumbled and took a step back, but it was too late.

"Josslyn Winifred Amell. Light-hearted joy."

And there, in the shadows of the dimly-lit room, sat Owain, carefully enchanting a weapon, as if he belonged there. Of course he wasn't the least bit surprised to see her, or if he was, he wasn't able to show it. She touched her cheeks with her fingertips, expecting to have to wipe the tears away, but she appeared to be all out of them. And about damned time. She smiled instead, and for the first time in days, she felt almost calm.

"Owain, you're here," she finally managed around her smile, stating the obvious with panache.

"I am here to enchant weapons and armor for the mages and templars. I am here to serve. It is noisy here, but it was too quiet in the Tower after you left."

Settling down in a chair beside him, she motioned for the other Tranquil to leave. "I have something I need to tell you, Owain," she began and then the story of her marriage and pregnancy came flowing out of her mouth with the speed of a soldier on his way to the town's brothel. When she was done explaining that, she launched into an account of her travels, which sounded crazy even to her…and she knew crazy.

When she'd finished, Owain looked at her, and for the briefest moment, she thought she saw a smile in his eyes before he blinked and looked down at his work. "When you have defeated the Archdemon, all will be well, Josslyn Winifred Amell Guerrin."

It wasn't a question but a statement and there was a hint of conviction in his voice, or maybe it was just that she wanted to believe there was. "Yes, and we'll have such a celebration."

Teagan found her a short time later and introductions were made. "I am sorry, my dear, but dusk approaches and we need to return home before it's completely dark."

Owain inclined his head and then looked at Joss. "I remember, Josslyn, I remember everything. You deserve your happiness. Do not regret. I do not."

To her credit, she made it outside before she burst into tears. Again.

**~~~oOo~~~**

There were a number of her companions gathered in the square, along with hundreds of complete strangers, all staring at her, thanks to Fergus.

"What do you mean, I need to give a speech? You're the bloody king, you speak!" Joss hissed, glaring at Fergus.

"And you are the one who united the dwarves, elves and humans. You're also the one who travels with her very own golem. Who would you rather listen to?"

The crowd of soldiers grew restive, waiting, and she finally stepped up beside Fergus. She cleared her throat, fighting off the waves of panic that were causing her to sweat like an overpriced whore. Or maybe it was just a warm day. Yes, she'd go with that.

"Friends, Fereldans, countrymen, lend me your ears…" she began and then paused, wondering where she was going with that and if she'd just insulted the Dalish elves who had gathered with the other soldiers. Her mind drew a complete blank. She glanced over at Teagan, who was smiling his encouragement and pride. Obviously _he_ wasn't going to ride to her rescue. Next, her eyes traveled to Zevran, who winked boldly at her, which did not help in the least. Loghain, so polished he was casting as much glare as a midsummer's day, snorted and tapped his foot. Arrogant arse.

_Think. Think, think, think, think, damn it!_ Taking a deep breath, she continued, "…and…erm… also your sword arms. We've come to bury the darkspawn, not praise ourselves. So, let's go kick the Archdemon's arse! Let's tell him who's who and what's what! Show no mercy, take no prisoners and we'll be home in time for dinner!"

Maker, she was the worst speaker she'd ever heard. But the soldiers stomped their feet and roared their approval. Of course, they were so full of adrenaline, and Maker knew what else, that she could have told them their hair was on fire and they would have shouted their approval.

Fergus yelled, "You heard the woman! Get to it! Wine and wenches await the victors!"

Morrigan swooped out of the sky, which had turned a murky red-tinged grey over the past few hours. Riordan said the Archdemon was to blame. Riiiight, because he'd been in so many Blights. But then, she didn't have any other explanation for the reddish glow to the clouds, so she was willing to go with it.

Once Morrigan had transformed into herself, she came to stand in front of Joss and Loghain. "The first wave of darkspawn should be here within the next two hours," the witch reported.

"Places! Places everyone!" Loghain called out, sounding almost animated.

Teagan, wearing heavy plate and looking much too heroic for her liking, came to stand beside her. "Stay safe," he said quietly, before pulling her into his arms. She was not going to cry. She. Was. Not.

"I will if you will. If not, all bets are off."

"Josslyn, I love you. These past months have meant more to me than I can express. If anything should happen -"

Joss clapped one hand over his mouth and then spit three times between her index and middle fingers. "Don't say that. Don't even think it. We'll be laughing about all of this before you know it." She stepped away and bent down until her eyes were level with Styx's.

"Styxandstones, stay with Teagan and keep him safe or you'll have to deal with my wrath," she told her mabari. Styx howled and butted her in the chest, and she was willing to pretend that he was saying: "Sure, Joss, no worries. We'll be home in time for dinner, just like you said!"

Standing up again, she flung her arms around Teagan. "I hate good-byes. I refuse to make mine. Just know that I love you to pieces and I love all those pieces," she whispered. She wasn't sure she could let go, but he gently disentangled himself and gave her a smile before turning and marching off to war.

She watched him until he was lost in the crowd of soldiers who were moving into position. Then she rounded on the stone golem standing with her other companions.

"Shayle, if anything happens to him, I will personally take a chisel to your sorry arse," she hissed.

"It need not be rude. The bearded one showed great wisdom in choosing to fight with me."

"My promise stands. Teagan hurt equals chiseled arse. Got it?"

Shayle stomped over to her and Joss feared for her toes, leaping back. "It…_you_…have been both helpful and amusing. I will ensure the bearded…Teagan…is returned safely, but not because of your childish threat."

"Oh," Joss replied, mollified. "Alrighty then. Good to know. Stay safe, Shayle. And stay away from the lower park…lots of birds in the area still."

"Those fiendish creatures will expire immediately after the Archdemon."

Joss had the wildest impulse to hug the statue but Shayle was already stomping after Teagan and Styx.

"So, any last words of advice? And if something happens to Riordan, which of us should kill the Archdemon?" Jowan asked. She was certain she heard his teeth chattering. Or maybe it was hers.

She stared at her fellow Wardens. How was she supposed to decide that, for Maker's sake? She hated being the one in charge. "Oh! Oh I know. Pick a number between one and twenty. Tell it to Zevran. Then I'll choose a number between one and twenty and the one who's closest to it gets to have a statue erected in his or her honor," Joss finally said, trying to instill cheer in her voice. It sounded more like hysteria but the Wardens all nodded and Jowan even managed a sickly smile.

"There's no need. I'll make the killing blow if Riordan falls," Randal said quietly.

"What? No! I'll do it," Cathair announced, hands on hips.

"You do it and I'll do it with you," Jowan chimed in, placing an arm around Cathair's metal-clad waist.

"Will not," Alistair interjected.

"Will so."

"Not."

"So."

"Sorry, Archdemon…we can't fight right now because Dumb and Dumber are arguing about whether they'll make the ultimate sacrifice or chicken out," Joss said, shaking her head.

"Hey, maybe if we all do it at the same time the soul will get confused and explode?" Jowan looked so hopeful that Joss wanted to assure him it was possible, not because it was, but because he wanted it to be so badly.

"Don't worry, lass. It's my duty and my right. It is the very least I can do, I think."

Well, she wasn't going to argue with him about that, but she felt a sharp stab of guilt anyway. Damn her conscience. Why had it finally shown up? "Thank you, Riordan. I'm sorry we didn't get a chance to meet under better circumstances."

Riordan's wink was impish and he pulled her to him for a passionate kiss on the lips, followed by a cocky grin. "Dying man's last wish," he explained and Joss laughed around a sudden lump in her throat.

"So, no doing the noble, stupid thing then, people. That's Riordan's job. Is that clear?" Her people all nodded gravely, sporting matching looks of relief, except Randal, who looked almost disappointed.

She gave him what she hoped was an encouraging smile. "I'll make you an offer you can't refuse, Randal. Come back in one piece and I'll give you Wynne for a day of smiting delight."

Randal grinned, though he seemed a bit pale still. Calm, but as pale as cream. "Done deal, Commander."

Ack, there was that awful word again. When would they get it through their heads that she was not a leader…of anything…unless it was a game of Follow the Leader, which she excelled at.

Her mind was obviously breaking.

Cathair shrugged, looking as uncomfortable as Joss felt. "Listen, Commander, I'm not any better at saying good-byes than you are at making speeches. So, take care and I'll see you later," the woman said, shrugging.

"See you later," Joss agreed, suddenly finding herself staring at her feet so nobody could see the tears that were forming.

"Thanks for saving my life. Several times. I owe you."

"Yes you do, Jowan. Stay out of trouble this time, I won't be there to pull your arse out of the fire," she admonished around the lump in her throat. Gah, why had she allowed herself to be in this position? She should have ducked out after the speech and stayed hidden until everyone had gone on their way.

Alistair grabbed her and hung on, his grip so tight that she could feel his armor cutting into her. "You – I – this could have been so much worse if Jory or Daveth had survived instead of you."

"Uhm…thanks?"

"You know what I mean. You were right about a lot of things, especially about having – you know – with Elissa before – well - thanks, that's all."

"So get back as soon as you can and ask her to marry you," Joss instructed.

"I did. Last night. She said yes. She claims I fainted. I was just resting, really. You should have been there."

Stepping back, he gave her a boyish grin and she felt herself returning it, to her surprise. Hopefully it looked as cheerful as his, not that there was really all that much to smile about.

"Maker's breath, woman! The battle won't last as long as these good-byes of yours. We need to get to the command center now!" Loghain exclaimed, having run completely out of courtesy, common or otherwise.

Not that she minded, especially as she was done saying good-bye to everyone that wouldn't be in the command center. Well, except for Wynne the Wizened and Sister Clueless.

A brisk walk brought them to the command center and Sergeant Kylon was already waiting for them. He saluted Loghain and gave Joss a grin before turning to Fergus with a bow. Joss looked around and saw that Elissa was already seated at a table and there were runners lined up and ready to take messages to any of the field commanders. Zevran nodded his approval.

"Everyone present and accounted for, Your Majesty."

"And the ladies?"

"Left on the Siren's Call last night, King Fergus."

Fergus chuckled. "We're standing in the Pearl, Kylon. I think we can forgo the formalities."

It figured that the first time she visited a brothel all the sweet-cream ladies would be gone.


	51. Chapter 51

**A/N: **_This was **supposed** to be the last chapter, but it kept growing…and growing…so I have split it into the last chapter, followed by a rather lengthy epilogue. At least that way I can say this was technically the last chapter. As most of the epilogue is written I hope to have it posted by tomorrow or Monday.  
My thanks to my brilliant beta, Lisa, for turning tripe into truffles._

**All Things Blight and Beautiful **

**~~Shayle~~**

Holding the south gate proved…problematic. The armies became separated when the Archdemon flew down and burned their bridges. And why had It – Josslyn – not told them the Archdemon _flew_? Shayle swatted at the sky, glowering…as much as a stone face allowed for such expressions.

And why had It not insisted on having the bearded one fighting with It? Shayle had no desire to watch over the bearded one, although it was preferable to the wizened one or the laid sister.

Glancing over at the bearded fleshy creature in question, Shayle was reminded that It was not without skill as a warrior. A bit too swashbuckling for Shayle's taste, but competent enough that Shayle was free to concentrate on the overall battle

When the ogre roared into the square, pounding its chest, Shayle ordered the nearest squad to take care of it, before turning to command a second squad to take out the caster that was accompanied by a horde of darkspawn arriving from the opposite direction.

Bolts, arrows, spells and fists flew for what seemed like hours. When the spell-caster finally fell, Shayle immediately turned to help the other group as one ogre had become half a dozen. A well-armored soldier brought a large sword up in a sweeping arc and Shayle tutted. _That is not the most efficient swing_. For a moment, Shayle continued to watch the scene unfolding, too far away to do more than that. The ogre batted the sword away, which was hardly surprising to Shayle, given the flamboyance of the swing. Another soldier, one Shayle recognized immediately, charged in. _At least It is holding Its sword properly. _

With a start, Shayle moved forward, steps quickening, leaving puffs of dust in its wake. Watching in horror, the golem saw the ogre reach for the soldier.

_It – Joss – will _not_ be pleased_. _Can a golem become a toad? What if It knows other transformational spells? What if It knows…bird transmogrification?_ Shayle shuddered and broke into an awkward half-run.

A streak of brindled fur passed Shayle, leaping over a dead darkspawn and launching itself at the ogre. The ogre looked inordinately pleased at the dog's arrival.

**~~Oghren~~**

"Stone-forsaken noble! Get your fat ass back over there and hold the line!" Oghren barked at the noble.

"Men, we have one job, and one job only. We hold the line. We box the sodding darkspawn into this little area and we hold the bleeding line. Got it?" Oghren continued.

He was standing on an overturned crate in order to be seen. Whose bright idea was it to put a dwarf in charge of an army of humans? Probably that general with the stick shoved up his ass. If all his decisions were so half-assed it was no wonder they'd lost the battle at Ostagar.

He looked out at the men around him, sworn to defend the city to their dying breath. Bunch of sodding kids, most of them, but eager and stout-hearted or he wasn't a dwarf! He chuckled, realizing that, by Orzammar standards, he wasn't considered much of a dwarf or warrior any more. Ancestors' tits, but it felt good to be out from under that rock! Who'd have thunk it?

He thumped his chest and grinned. "It's a good day to die!" he shouted. An uneasy murmur went through the soldiers. His grin turned into a shout of laughter. "But it's an even better day to live! Let's show them our hearts while we rip theirs out, men!"

Bah, who knew if the blighted 'spawn even _had_ hearts? No matter, the men were fired up and ready to kick darkspawn ass. A messenger came running up and handed him a note. "From Warden Commander Josslyn!" the lad said, saluting.

"Aye, hold a tic."

He broke the seal and gave the note a quick once-over before giving a great shout of laughter. "Listen up men, we've got a horde heading our way, but the commander believes in us. We'll get it done, she says. By the ancestors she's right! Oh, and the first round of drinks is on her afterwards! Second round too if we manage to do a bit of damage to the Gnawed Noble!"

A roar of approval came from the soldiers and then the first wave of spawn hit and he was too busy fighting to worry about drinks or taverns or anything except his men and the fight. But not so busy he couldn't destroy a certain sign for a certain friend.

**~~Joss~~**

She tried. She tried very hard to sit still and wait for the reports to come into the command center, but the waiting was driving her to distraction, like an itch that couldn't be scratched. The men were all huddled around a map playing with a bunch of toy soldiers as each report came in. Seriously, it was an odd time to be moving wooden figures around a map. Shouldn't they be strategizing or something?

Elissa patted her arm to try and calm her, reminding her that she was 'with child' and shouldn't allow herself to become agitated. As if the growing baby bump wasn't a big enough reminder? But she gritted her teeth and thanked Elissa because the poor girl was just as worried about Alistair as she was about Teagan.

Joss stopped pacing long enough to talk with Morrigan, who had flown in with another scouting report.

"Now that Loghain is no longer in need of my services, I will be leaving," Morrigan said without preamble, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, which it wasn't.

Her golden eyes narrowed as she surveyed Joss. Joss wanted to reach up to make sure she didn't have a glob of jelly on her face or something because Morrigan's gaze was very intense. Maybe she'd grown a second head? A third eye?

As the silent scrutiny continued, Joss searched her brain for something to say. As in: _anything_ to say. "You won't reconsider? Stay for a bit?" she finally asked, even more surprised than Morrigan by her words.

"No, the Dalish have given me directions to their encampment and I will make my way there. 'Tis time for me to be gone, before Mother reappears, for she _will_ reappear, have no doubt."

Oh joy. "Before you go, please just answer one question."

Morrigan sighed, a wariness creeping into her expression. "What is it?"

"Your magical mounds…how do they work?"

A faint, almost secretive smile curved Morrigan's lips ever so slightly upwards. "If I tell you, I shall have to kill you."

Joss took a large step away from Morrigan.

"That is what the Chasind who taught me the spell said when I asked her," Morrigan added with a faint snicker. Who knew Morrigan had a sense of humor? Granted it was infinitesimal, but there, nonetheless._  
_

"Oh. Ha! Good one. I knew you weren't serious," Joss said, striving for amusement and finding only relief.

Morrigan leaned forward and whispered in Joss's ear. Joss nodded, listening intently, but then shook her head. "It's really that simple? Seriously?"

Morrigan's smile flitted across her face and disappeared again. "Do you doubt me?"

Chuckling, Joss asked, "Is that a trick question?"

"I see you are in rare form today. Perhaps we can fetch Alistair and combine two half-wits to make a whole?"

"You and Alistair? I never thought he was your type because I _know_ you aren't referring to me as a half-wit."

Morrigan's smile was almost warm. "Of all the things I expected to find on this journey, an ally against my mother was not one of them. A _friend_." The way Morrigan said the word 'friend' made it seem like an exotic foreign fruit of some kind.

"But just friends, right? I mean, I'm not one of Flemeth's long lost daughters or anything, right? Not a niece or a cousin twice-removed or anything?"

Morrigan's smile became enigmatic. "'Twould explain much were you my sister, but we are not related. You are simply the thorn in Mother's side that she cannot remove."

Sure, a thorn…but why? Would she ever know? Probably not, damn it. She walked outside with Morrigan, without understanding why she did so. It wasn't as if either of them was likely to break down and confess their admiration, respect and affection for each other.

Still, she stood beside Morrigan, and then surprised them both yet again. Reaching up to her messy chignon, Joss removed the silver combs that were holding it in place. Her hair immediately tumbled down, apparently jubilant at being set free.

She stared down at the combs for a minute. Her plain silver combs. The last remnants of a life she really didn't even remember, and she couldn't think why she'd been so sentimental about them for so many years.

"Here, take these. When you start feeling lonely, look at them and think of us and how much worse things could be." As she spoke, she took Morrigan's hand, placed the combs in her palm and closed her hand around them.

Morrigan's eyes narrowed and she pinched the bridge of her nose with her free hand, looking greatly put upon. Well, sure, because gifts were a real pain in the arse to receive. Maker knew _she_ hated receiving them. Well, actually that was true. Before Joss had time to verbalize her thoughts, Morrigan shifted into a raven and flew off, the dip of one wing her only farewell.

**~~ Alistair ~~ **

Getting to the top of Fort Drakon had sounded easy when they'd discussed the battle plans. Alistair, huffing and puffing as he clamored - in full plate armor - up the long and winding staircases, fighting off mobs of darkspawn, had a longing to be anywhere else.

Having a large group of mages and archers along made the fighting part easy; it was the blasted climbing that knocked the wind out of his sails. Riordan, older and nearing his Calling, was staggering to keep up, currently leaning against the wall, chest heaving.

"Come on, get a move on!" Cathair yelled, charging past Alistair, seemingly unaffected by the strenuous climb and periodic skirmishes. Not to be outdone by a _junior_ Warden, Alistair pushed himself onward, trying not to mutter about over-zealous, show-off warriors. He wasn't successful.

They reached the top of the fort at the same time that Riordan collapsed in a perspiring puddle of fatigue. Alistair's fear that Riordan had died before reaching the Archdemon gave way to relief when Riordan started hacking and coughing. Randal knelt and offered his waterskin to the man. Was that what he had to look forward to in a few years? Not his happiest thought ever. Not his worst, either, but definitely not his happiest.

"He'll never make it," Jowan whispered, wiping the sweat from his brow.

"Will so."

"Will not."

"Will."

"Won't."

Alistair glared at the mage. Didn't Jowan know that _he_ was in charge? That what he said was the final word? "He _will_, even if I have to carry him every step of the way, tie his sword in his hand and shove him at the Archdemon."

He stomped over to Riordan and reached out his hand. Riordan mumbled and stumbled but finally managed to get up and even take a few steps. Before he crumpled again, the Archdemon, looking very, very unhappy, roared overhead.

"Mages, archers, take up positions and aim for the left wing. Focus on the left!" Alistair shouted. To his surprise, and probably Jowan's too, judging by his gaping mouth, the mages formed orderly lines as the soldiers and Wardens took up a defensive posture around them.

"Is that our left or its left?" Cathair called out.

What? What had the plan called for? Alistair scratched the back of his head, trying to remember what Loghain had said on the matter.

"Stop dithering and decide!" Oh Maker, Joss had finally rubbed off on him. He'd yelled that out loud. Everyone seemed to be staring at him and if he'd been able to, he'd have crawled into a hole.

Clearing his throat and trying to look authoritative, he pulled himself up and commanded, "_Our_ left!" Not that it mattered as long as they all fired at the same one, but he wanted their plan to be executed flawlessly. "What now?" Randal asked, eyeing Riordan's slumped figure.

"Get that Archdemon down and as near to dying as you can. I'll get Riordan ready to go."

The Archdemon fought like a thing possessed, landing heavily with its frozen left wing, and promptly knocking three archers, two soldiers and a mage, not to mention a few pigeons, completely off the roof of the fort. Somehow Alistair didn't think that was what Loghain had meant when he'd dubbed the mission Operation Free Fall.

For more than an hour the battles raged, both against the Archdemon and Riordan's imminent death by exertion. Alistair fed the older Warden a number of health and rejuvenation potions, and, at long last it looked like the Archdemon was tiring. Riordan's color returned to pasty white instead of sunburned red.

Randal, covered in an interesting array of darkspawn and Archdemon bits and bobs, came running over. "How is he going to manage to kill anything?"

Bending down and hefting Riordan to his feet, Alistair grunted, "With a little bit…" before stopping to hand Riordan his sword. Riordan's hand dipped with the weapon's weight.

"With a little bit…" Alistair began again, pausing once more, this time to pull out his rope and tie the sword to Riordan's hand.

"With a little bit of blooming luck!" he yelled over the roar of the Archdemon, not to mention Riordan's hacking cough.

"Now! Now, now, now!" Cathair shouted, gesticulating wildly for the archers and mages to cease firing arrows and spells so that a Warden could make the killing blow. Either that or she wanted someone to slit her throat. Alistair snorted. Really, he was such a witty man. Why didn't the others see it?

"Thank you, Riordan. We'll erect a statue in your honor," Alistair said sincerely, before shoving the older Warden forward.

Somehow, and Alistair would never understand how, Riordan took a tentative step or two forward and then, with a battle-cry even Cathair would be proud of, he ran forward, sword raised, yelling: "For Duncan! For the Grey Wardens! Die you motherless bastard of an Archdemon!"

Then, to everyone's horror, judging by the collective gasp Alistair heard, Riordan slipped on entrails, and went sliding across the roof on his knees, his sword still upraised. Hmmm, I might have tied that a little too tightly, Alistair thought, frowning slightly as he watched_. _

The Archdemon gave up the ghost then, lowering its head in defeat, allowing the sword to pierce the vulnerable skin of its throat. Riordan's forward momentum carried him all the way to the Archdemon's underbelly, the sword slicing the creature open along the way, which made a bloody mess, Alistair reflected, watching Archdemon gore gush over Riordan. The Archdemon gave a final gasp of outrage before collapsing on Riordan.

"That had to have hurt," Jowan remarked in the total absence of sound that followed. He winced and started to walk away.

Alistair was too tired to argue. He hoped that Riordan had, indeed, made the killing blow, because he was also too tired to fight any longer. He turned to address the crowd of mages, archers, soldiers and Wardens.

Before he could order everyone to move away from the dead Archdemon, an explosion, complete with a bright golden-white light, shook the tower. Several people were flung over the side of the tower by the force. _Isn't it ironic that they survived the battle and then died before they could celebrate? _ Before he could contemplate further on life's ironies, his forehead connected with the ground. Painfully so. His last thought was that they really ought to put up railing around the top of Fort Drakon before the next Archdemon's arrival

**~~Joss ~~**

It wasn't as if the sun suddenly broke through the clouds and birds suddenly appeared, singing merrily, but the battle was definitely over. The explosion had rattled every remaining window in the city, and knocked more than a few people down. News reached them moments later that the Archdemon was dead, as were a great many darkspawn and those that had survived were disorganized and in a hurry to leave town.

Loghain gathered his sword and shield and then stepped outside. Joss followed him, intent on finding Teagan so she could breathe properly again.

Gloomy red-tinged clouds still hung in the sky. The air smelled atrocious and Joss choked, her eyes watering. "So much for being able to breathe," she muttered to no-one in particular. Zevran handed her a clean square of cloth and she quickly covered her mouth and nose.

"Come, my lovely Warden, let us find that handsome husband of yours," he said, offering her a bright smile that almost reached his eyes. He was worried, which, of course, made her worry jump right up and take notice.

"You ought to stay inside until we make sure it's safe to travel the city, but as you have yet to listen to me, I doubt now will be any different," Loghain said in his cool, long-suffering way.

"I do listen to you," she protested. "I just don't obey you because, while you may be old enough to be my father, you're actually no relation at all. Oh, and it case you failed to notice, I'm also not in your army."

Loghain snorted. "Thank the Maker for that."

Fergus surveyed the smoke-clogged sky and then said gravely, "I think we can put aside our differences a bit longer and get busy tending to the dead and wounded."

That was enough to make Joss start pulling Zev along the street in search of Teagan. She refused to even try to identify some of the bits and pieces and _things_ that she stepped over.

They neared the makeshift hospital and Joss stopped, looking at the overflow of people seeking help. Sister Leliana of the Blissfully Unaware was helping sort through the mass of injured soldiers, her face serene. How was that possible? Joss knew_ her_ face was as far from serene as chalk was from chowder.

"Leliana, have you seen Teagan?"

The lay sister glanced over at them, wagging a playful finger at Joss. "Why of course, Josslyn, many times. Such a fine looking man, but you already know that, do you not? I think you must be teasing me, yes?" the Barmy Bard cooed.

"I – uhm –yes - erm – no. Maker's spotted smalls! What I mean – oh, never mind," Joss sighed, entering the building.

Wynne, hands on hips, was shouting orders to the other healers. A fair number of non-mage healers were assisting, as well, to Josslyn's relief. Her stomach was already lurching like a drunken sailor and the thought of helping with the wounded made it break into the Hornpipe.

"Teagan?" Joss called above the hubbub.

"Tea and what?" Wynne asked, frowning as she cupped a hand around her ear.

Joss sighed. Obviously he wasn't there. She turned to go, bumping into Jowan . Behind him were Randal and Cathair, holding on to Alistair, who was doing a fine imitation of a rag-doll.

"What happened? Didn't I order you all to be careful? Doesn't anybody listen to me?" Joss demanded crossly. "Wynne! Get over here!"

Wynne glared at her, but to Joss's astonishment the old biddy picked her way across the crowded room.

"I will find Elissa, my dear Warden. Do not leave until I return," Zev assured her before slipping out of the hospital.

Joss's mind was running amok as various scenarios ran through it. Had Alistair been wounded in battle? Had he been trying to do the noble, stupid thing? Randal and Cathair laid him down on a pallet with great care, and Wynne knelt down to examine him. Joss did the same, much to Wynne's annoyance. It took a few seconds to find the injury and when she finally saw it, she was rendered speechless. One bump to rule them all graced the front of his noggin.

"Holy Maker," Jowan whistled. "That sure puts the one you had to shame."

"Fergus's too. I never thought I'd see one even come close to it," Randal agreed.

"Will he be all right, Wynne?" Joss asked, her voice barely audible over the din.

"Yes, but he'll have a headache for some time to come. He'll need bed rest for a few days."

Joss nodded and then turned to her Wardens for their report. "So Riordan did make the killing blow? And what caused the explosion? Are souls that volatile?"

Randal shrugged. "Guess so. Funny thing, though. There's no sign at all of Riordan but the Archdemon's whole carcass is up on the top of the fort. We left some soldiers guarding it."

"Hopefully you told them to stay away from it and its blood."

"Of course," Randall replied, clearly offended by her lack of faith in him.

"Thank you. You've all done a tremendous job and I – I need to go find Teagan."

Maker's hind tit, she felt the first tickling in her throat that indicated tears were about to come for an extended visit. She sniffed and turned to leave, but stopped to ask, ""Any sign of Oghren or Shayle?"

"No, we came straight here."

Disappointed, she left, knowing that Zevran would be angry, but also knowing he would catch up. It took her a few wrong turns to find her way, and it was when she encountered a large crowd of people congregating in the streets, that her heart plummeted to her toes and her stomach followed.

She tried to push her way through the crowd and she strained for a glimpse of Teagan, but the crowd was a current, carrying her away from the south gate.

"Let the Commander of the Grey through!" Loghain commanded, and the crowd parted down the middle with the precision of a military drill team.

"Thanks, and what are you doing here?"

"I assumed this was the direction you would go."

Which only half answered the question, but as she was now walking at a decidedly brisk pace to keep up with the long-legged general, she didn't say anything.

"Halt!" Loghain commanded her.

She looked up at him and snorted. "Not bloody likely," she said, stepping around him and out of his reach. And stopped dead in her tracks, which was an unfortunate turn of phrase, all things considered. The crowd did what a crowd does…it crowded in around her again. But not before she caught sight of a large, walking stone. Joss craned her neck to see over the man in front of her.

Shayle, carrying a bundle of armor, was slowly making its way down the cobblestoned street through the press of people. Joss stumbled forward, nearly tripping, but a hand reached out and steadied her. Shayle was swallowed by the sea of people again as the crowd surged forward. She was pushed along with the masses, and her toe was mashed by a soldier's iron-clad foot. He gave a yelp of pain. The big baby, she hadn't zapped him _that_ hard.

Another brief glimpse of Shayle and she was running, shoving people out of her way, castigating herself for not being a healer because she couldn't even heal a hangnail to save her life. When she was done with that subject, she started on herself for letting Teagan go out and fight, not to mention for allowing herself be talked into staying behind. The crowd parted again and she saw the bundle of armor taking shape. A person was inside the armor, a limp person who wasn't moving. Her heart did a jig around her chest as she stumbled on.

"Oh, no! No! No, no, no!" she cried_. Oh, nice high note. A shame you can't sing_. "You were supposed to keep him safe, Shayle! Look at him! He's all broken and, Maker's hairy knees, what happened? He looks…" her voice trailed off because someone had decided to squeeze the life out of her heart.

She closed her eyes and tried to speak again, forcing her eyes open, "He looks…he looks…" she paused, staring at the man in Shayle's arms. "…nothing like Teagan!" Why hadn't she noticed the curving outline of breasts sooner? The 'he' wasn't a 'he' at all, but a 'she'.

Her relief pushed more tears to the surface, to her annoyance. She glared at Shayle, who shifted slightly, readjusting the woman it carried. "It has eyes after all. I was worried that It had gone blind in my absence."

Teagan pushed through the crowd at that moment, Styx at his side. "Josslyn? My dear, you shouldn't be out here in your condition."

Joss stared at him as hundreds of emotions danced in her heart, not to mention a dozen or so questions in her head. So naturally, the first thing out of her mouth was: "Who is this woman, Teagan?"

Not that she heard his answer because, with a sigh, she decided to faint instead.

**~~~oOo~~~**

"Here's to it, and to it again! If you get to it and can't do it, call on me, I'm good at it!" Oghren yelled, raising his flagon to the group gathered around the table.

A roar of approval shook the rafters as the revelers raised their cups in response. Joss gave a delicate shudder at the taste of the ginger and mint tea, but anything stronger made her stomach very unhappy.

"What is 'it'? What's he mean?" Alistair asked, leaning close to her to ask. The bandage wrapped around the biggest knot in all of Thedas, now known as Bumpy, the big brother to Lumpy and Knotty, gave him a rather raffish appearance. But it was just an illusion, judging from his question.

"I'll give you a hint. It's not about drinking," she replied, winking.

"Oh," he replied, a look of contemplation residing on his boyish face. She saw the moment he understood because a splash of red settled in his cheeks. "Oh, I get it. Right."

They were gathered at a long table in the overcrowded dining room in Teagan's townhouse. The two days since the end of the Blight had been a blur for Joss. She'd spent a good deal of it in bed, even sleeping occasionally. And she'd spent time visiting the armies that had helped end the Blight so decisively.

"Has anyone found Riordan's body yet?" Cathair queried from across the table where she was tossing drinks back like a professional dwarf.

"We found his sword and some bits of rope, but that's all. It's surprising that we found that much, considering how large the blast was. In fact, I don't know how anyone atop the tower managed to survive," Joss answered, refusing to let her mind take a stroll any further down that particular garden path.

Before the conversation could continue, Randal stood up, saluting them with his tankard. Clearing his throat, he recited:

"_Here's to you and here's to me,  
"And here's to the lass with the well-shaped knee.  
"Here's to the man, with his hand on her garter;  
"He hasn't got far, but he's a damn good starter!"_

Another roar of approval met his toast and everyone drank again. Joss set her cup down and leaned against her husband, who was looking very, very merry. He'd placed a discreet hand on her knee earlier and throughout the toasting it had gradually inched higher.

Fergus stood next and surveyed the room with too-bright eyes. "You are all damned fine people," he began, trying to look serious and kingly. "I'm honored to call you friends." He paused, grinning at Zevran, who was seated across from him. Raising his flagon, he said:

"_Here's to the roses and lilies in bloom,  
"You in my arms and I in your room.  
"A door that is locked, a key that is lost,  
A bird, and a bottle, a bed badly tossed,  
"And a night that is fifty years long." _

"Don't even ask what the bird means," Joss said sternly, pointing a finger at Alistair. The room erupted into laughter and Alistair glared at her.

"I hate you," he replied, before downing his goblet of wine.

Cathair was the next to stand up. "As you slide down the banister of life, may the splinters never point your way!"

As the laughter gradually subsided, Teagan leaned close. His breath feathered against her skin as he whispered, "You look wonderful tonight."

Joss glanced down at her well-worn peach-colored gown, let out twice and still too tight. She could feel her hair slipping out of its knot. She thought he was seeing her through a wine-colored haze but she smiled, knowing he believed it to be true.

"I feel wonderful tonight," he added, his voice husky, which caused her stomach to flutter in anticipation. She wouldn't argue; he felt wonderful to her as well.

Of course, she ruined the romantic moment by yawning. Teagan yawned next, and to her delight, the yawn slowly made its way around the trestle table, bypassing no one. Even Styx, resting comfortably on a rug in front of the fireplace, yawned. Drowsy and content, Joss rested her head on Teagan's shoulder and let the voices of her friends lull her to sleep…

"_Ah, there you are. I was beginning to think you no longer cared."_

_Joss groaned. "It's been a hard day's night and I've been working like a dog, so whatever you want to say, say it quickly, Flemeth."_

"_See me. Feel me. Touch me," the crone crooned. "Am I real? Do you believe in me? Talk to me, we can work it out."_

_Joss rubbed at her forehead, wondering if she would ever be rid of Flemeth. "Try to see it my way. I say yes, you say no. I say stop, you say go. We'll never agree on anything. Please do us both a favor and just walk away." _

_Oh, hadn't she become the brave one. Well, except that her voice shook ever so slightly and her knees were knocking together like a set of chattering teeth. She admonished her knees to cease and desist, but they were deaf, apparently._

"_Isn't life strange?" Flemeth continued, ignoring Joss. "And isn't it ironic? It's the good advice you just don't take. I told you not to meddle and yet you did. I wonder, child, if you even know what you've done?" _

_Without asking herself why, or trying to talk herself out of it, Joss brought her hands up, chanting softly, and began to shape the Fade until she and Flemeth were standing in the Harrowing Chamber in the Tower. Anger and sorrow flickered along her nerves, chasing away her fear. She was done being Flemeth's whipping post. Ha, as if, she thought wryly. But she would try, at the very least. _

"_This is where both Brin and Joseph died. If you look you can probably see the bloodstains on the floor. After losing both of them do you really think _anything_ you say or do will frighten me? Or hurt me?" _

_To her amazement, Flemeth took a step back and turned her head away, before she looked back at Joss, laughing briefly. It was a hollow sound… a sad sound. "He was such a disappointment. I thought he was going to be so much more than he was. In the end, he was just another brick in the wall." _

_Some part of her had known since her first meeting with the witch, but it was a relief to finally hear her admit that Brin was one of her sons. It didn't hurt nearly as much as she had imagined it might. Andraste's rusted chastity belt! Was she growing up? Seriously? Now? She groaned mentally. _

"_Was it you who sent him to the Tower?" _

_When had her voice gone all reedy and thin? She blinked, looking down at the ground, which was vibrating slightly. Was that her doing? Flemeth's? "I feel the earth move under my feet. What are you doing to my Fade?" Joss asked, suspicion wide awake and standing right beside her fear. And then the hurt, the anger, the fear coalesced, forming a hard knot in her stomach. In that moment, she was in control. _

"_You think you're more powerful than I am?" Flemeth snorted, but she seemed to be growing smaller as Joss continued to glare at her. _

"_No, I think there are some things that the mighty Witch of the Wilds can't do and I think my ability to shape dreams and dreamers is one of them." Oooh, nice bit of gloating in your voice. It's good to antagonize the most powerful creature you've ever met. Good one, Joss. _

_She looked around, trying to find out who the recklessly brave and foolish idiot using her voice was, and wondering how long before Flemeth demanded: "Off! Off with her head!" _

_Instead, Flemeth remained curiously silent. It was the confirmation Joss needed. She expected to be furious, like the wounded bear that had chased her up a tree one afternoon in the Brecilian Forest. How was she supposed to know that a wounded bear was a crazed bear? _

"_Who is to say you aren't one of my many daughters? Who is to say I don't have an amulet with your soul attached to it?" Flemeth asked with a laugh that bordered on lunacy._

_Joss's heart lurched as the words sunk in to her overtaxed brain. Her mind took a stumble down a hill. There was that horrible possibility again, jumping around in her thoughts. She grabbed a smile and slapped it on her face. Not this time, damn the Maker's blue balls. She was not going to be intimidated by the Bitch of the Wilds. _

_Searching frantically for something to say, she grabbed the first thing she could think of. "You wish I was your daughter, I'm sure, but I am Josslyn Winifred Amell Guerrin. I am sister of Joseph Bridger Amell, daughter of the Amells of Dragon's Peak, wife of Bann Teagan of Rainesfere."_

"_How can you be sure?"_

_Joss laughed, though the sound was more a breathless gasp than an actual laugh. "How can I be sure?" Joss asked, stalling while her brain - currently a blank slate - tried to find a coherent thought long enough to verbalize it. "How can I be sure? In a world that's constantly changing, there is one constant. Me. I'm me and no matter what you believe, this me is no longer afraid of you. And without fear, you have nothing…nothing at all." _

_Joss turned and started to walk away, but stopped. Without facing the witch, because she didn't want Flemeth to see even a hint of fear, she said, "Now, because I'm a better person than you'll ever be - not that you probably are a real person - you're welcome to enjoy _my_ Fadescape. For now." _

_She felt the earth move under her again as she walked into the raw Fade. A few minutes later she woke up in bed beside a sleeping Teagan. _

She had no recollection of actually climbing the stairs and getting into bed, nor of undressing, but she was stripped down to her bare skin. She rested her hand on Teagan's hip and leaned close to him, breathing him in. Maker, he smelled good.

He stirred, rolling onto his back and smiled sleepily at her, pulling her down for a kiss. A short time later, the earth moved again, in a totally different manner.

As Teagan drifted off to sleep again, Joss stared into the dark, a hand resting lightly on her rounded belly. She was happy. Truly happy, as in disgustingly, completely, utterly happy. Of course, it probably wouldn't last beyond the night, but it was a start.

She smiled, whispering a final good-bye to a life she had finally let go of. Sleep claimed her a few moments later.


	52. Chapter 52

**A/N: **_My heartfelt thanks to Lisa who was always there, always awesome and a tremendous help with the story. I don't know how I managed before you became my beta. Thank you, my dear friend._

**And Baby Makes Three...The Epilogue**

**2 weeks after the end of the Blight**

_Wedding notice appearing in the Denerim Inquirer's society section:_

Fergus Cousland, King of Ferelden, married Anora Mac Tir Theirin in a brief ceremony performed by Grand Cleric Zelda and attended by close friends and family.

The bride wore a sculpted silk gown in periwinkle blue and was given in marriage by her father, Loghain Mac Tir, the Teyrn of Gwaren and general of the combined Ferelden armies.

King's Fergus's sister, Elissa Cousland, was the king's only groomsman.

Also attending: Bann Teagan Guerrin and his wife Josslyn Guerrin, Hero of Ferelden; Alistair Theirin; the king's former traveling companions, and his bodyguard, Zevran Arainai.

A private reception in the palace followed the ceremony.

_**~~oOo~~**_

**3 weeks after the end of the Blight**

_Border crossing between Ferelden and Orlais_

Border Guard: The border into Orlais is closed for the night. Please come back in the morning. Our hours are posted on that sign right beside you.

Redhead: Oh but you must let me through. I am a lay sister returning home after traveling with the Hero of Ferelden.

Border Guard: Listen, lady, it's late and I'm ti – _lay_ sister, you say? Fine, I scratch your back, you scratch mine. Reason for visit?

Redhead: Oh, you're such a nice man. I am returning to Val Royeaux. Bymbeau Caron will vouch for me.

Border Guard: Very well, come with me. I'll show you my nice big entry stamp.

Redhead: Ooooh, you are _such_ a nice man. Shall I start reciting the Chant of Light now?

Border Guard: Sister, you can recite anything you want, as long as you show me just how good a lay sister you are.

Redhead: Oooooh, you are such a nice…wait…what?

_**~~~oOo~~~**_

**6 weeks after the end of the Blight**

_Shipping Manifest for the Flying Fereldan, bound for the Tevinter Imperium:_

10 barrels wheat flour  
7 barrels salted mackerel  
25 board-feet pine  
1 sarcastic stone golem  
1 white-haired know-it-all

_**~~~oOo~~~**_

**7 weeks after the end of the Blight**

_Letter sent to the First Warden:_

Dear First Warden, whatever your name is,

I am taking an extended leave of absence, not that it's really any of your concern because Maker knows you couldn't be bothered to actually be of help during the Blight. However, just because you can't be bothered to get off your moldering arse and behave with any courtesy, common or otherwise, doesn't mean I have to do the same.

While you and your fellow decaying ghouls (and really that's more an insult to ghouls than you) were hiding in Weisshaupt, the Grey of Ferelden were busy gathering an army and kicking the Archdemon's arse, thanks in part to the only Orlesian Grey Warden with the bal - backbone to aid their brothers and sisters of Ferelden. Senior Warden Riordan, of Jader, died killing the thing. He deserves a statue in his honor. Enclosed you'll find a sketch of him. I expect monthly progress reports.

Just so you know: there are a number of your secrets that are no longer secrets. You'd best find a new secret handshake, for instance. Oh, and the whole keep the reason Grey Wardens are needed to end a Blight secret thing? Not terribly smart and so not a secret here. I dare you to come down here and reprimand me in person, although given your penchant for ignoring your brothers and sisters, I doubt you'll manage it.

The Grey Wardens of Ferelden are making their home in Soldier's Peak. Any Warden-related matters can be addressed to the acting Commander of the Grey, Senior Warden Randal.

Oh! We found a two-hundred year old abomination living at the Peak, no doubt a friend of yours. He created an enhanced Joining that tastes like raspberries, has a higher success rate, and, judging by his age, lets you live longer. Too bad you'll never see a drop of it.

Josslyn Winifred Amell Guerrin  
Warden Commander, Ferelden

_**~~~oOo~~~**_

**2 months after the end of the Blight**

_Royal Proclamation: _

Now let it be known: For his services to the Crown, the Grey Wardens, and all of Ferelden, it is hereby decreed that the lands once owned by Rendon Howe, and the title attached thereto, shall be granted in perpetuity to Teagan Guerrin and his heirs. Teagan Guerrin, Bann of Rainesfere, Master of the Hunt, and Hero of Denerim, will henceforth and forever after, be known as the Arl of Amaranthine.

_Conversation overheard between the King and his personal bodyguard after the proclamation was read to the public and posted:_

King: Do you suppose she'll make me a toad for this?

Bodyguard: Ah, my dear king, if you are _lucky_, you will be a toad.

King: Will you still protect me should the worst come to pass?

Bodyguard: I will protect and defend you in all situations, your majesty. This I swear. Although, should you wish to send the party in question a gift of apology, I believe she might be persuaded not to harm you.

King: A gift, you say? What do you get a woman who appears to have everything?

Bodyguard: Perhaps a boon.

King: You are ridiculously awesome. Now, allow me to show my gratitude.

_**~~~oOo~~~**_

**3 months after the end of the Blight**

_Found in an unsent letter to the king:_

Teagan insists I put this in writing, but honestly, it would be much easier for me to talk to you in person when you come around for our weekly card game. All right, here goes…no laughing you wretched man.

I would ask that the Crown establish a commission, comprised of mages, templars and citizens, for the development of a strategy to foster communication and understanding between mages and the citizens of Ferelden.

(Oh Maker's holey smalls, I don't even sound like me anymore! I hate you, Your Majesty.)

No one is more surprised by this request than I am. I have always believed in the necessity of the Tower and the templars. But I discovered, on my recent jaunt around Ferelden, that mages are feared by many because little is known about them, other than rumors and speculation.

I also discovered that mages are woefully ignorant in the most basic skills of living outside the tower. If we are to aid our nation in times of war, we must know how to get on in the world. I had no idea that the sun could burn my skin, nor how to light a fire without using magic. Warden Commander Duncan paid a heavy price for my inexperience. Or rather, his very well-groomed beard did.

I don't expect attitudes to change overnight, or even quickly, but they need to change. Citizens need to be educated in how magic works, how completely _normal_ mages are - present company excepted - and how mages can be of benefit to any community. Mages need to learn that the people outside of the Tower are not pitchfork-wielding mobs, but _normal_, everyday people who have been taught to fear mages.

Set up small circles in every town where there is chantry. Allow interaction between mages and the townspeople. Allow visitations between family and mages. It's time that parents stop fearing their own mage children. Education is key, and working around...with…I meant _with_…the chantry is the only way this can happen.

I know this will be a huge headache for you, should you decide to go forward with the proposed boon. Perhaps if you stopped cheating at cards, I'd ask for something a bit more rational, like my very own castle or something. Oh wait, thanks to you, I now have several. Arlessa? Seriously? So, consider this payback, my friend.

I'm sure Grand Cleric Zelda will have a fit if you grant this, which would make this a win-win situation for me.

So, let's get together and discuss this in person. Bring Zev.

Joss

_**~~~oOo~~~**_

**4 months after the end of the Blight**

"My feet have disappeared!" Joss wailed, looking down and seeing nothing but her distended belly. Teagan chuckled, helping her sit on a chair before kneeling to slip her soft-soled shoes onto her feet. When he was done, he leaned in and kissed her.

'You are beaut –" he began, but she pressed her fingers against his mouth.

"If you say one word, I'll make sure you hop to the palace," Joss hissed. "I'm not anything except huge, or possibly colossal, and most definitely behemothic."

She was as big as a barn and just as unwieldy. Her pale green gown had no doubt once been a pavilion tent of some kind, judging by the amount of material used in it. She wondered if her ankles were as swollen as they felt, but as she couldn't see them, she had no idea.

Glaring at her husband, who was looking trim and impossibly sexy in his black doublet and matching leather breeches, she was tempted to singe his goatee off. His white shirt was crisp and bright, and opened at the collar. His glossy brown boots could double as a mirror, and his smile was nauseatingly cheerful. Bastard.

"My dear, you know that's not true. You feel that way, but you look nothing but beautiful," he claimed, helping her back onto her feet.

"In the words of Alistair: _I hate you_. I look like a walking barn."

"No, you do not. You look radiant," he chided, pulling her close, or as close as the baby allowed…which was to say not very.

After struggling to get back up, Joss rolled her eyes and decided arguing with a blind, crazy person just wasn't worth the effort. She snatched her fringed shawl and sailed out of the room. Or rather, mentally she sailed, physically she waddled. A pregnant barn that waddled like a goose. What was not to love about that? Oh, right. Everything. But she'd already filled her crying quota for the day, so she complained instead.

"I wish Fergus had waited until after Romulas was born."

"Romulas? Are you back to that name? I thought we agreed it was on the same list as Rhemus, Atticus and Finch?" Teagan asked, studying her with what she called his 'Maker preserve us' look.

"Just seeing if you're paying attention, Marmalade," Joss snickered, taking his arm.

The ceremonial hall of the palace was crowded with every noble in Ferelden, much to her dismay. She stood at the back of the hall and waited to be announced, wishing she was somewhere else. Maker's dimpled butt-cheeks! Did she have to parade her gargantuan self before all the nobility of Ferelden?

What had she done to make Fergus want to punish her? Well, aside from that whole frog incident but she'd apologized for that, and explained very kindly that if he'd just stop cheating at cards, she would be happy to leave him alone. For a short time he'd been dubbed Fergus, Ferelden's first frog king and even Zev had teased him. Still, payback was staring her in the face now.

"If I close my eyes so I can't see them will they still see me?"

"I'm afraid so, my love. However, if it will put you at ease, please do so," her gallant husband said with an amused chuckle.

"Baratheon is not impressed with his papa laughing at his mama," Joss muttered, lowering her head to hide her smile.

"Banned," her husband replied as they waited for the herald to announce them, which he was waiting to do until Arl Eamon was seated.

Isolde had moved out of the castle in Redcliffe and into a small bungalow in a town near Kinloch Hold in order to be near Connor. Petra had instituted visiting days at the Tower, twice a month, an initiative that was well received by all save the Grand Cleric, who felt it was too dangerous a practice. Sure, because happy mages were more likely to become abominations than miserable ones.

"Teagan Guerrin, Arl of Amaranthine, Bann of Rainesfere, Master of the Hunt, Hero of Denerim! Josslyn Winifred Amell Guerrin, Arlessa of Amaranthine, Commander of the Grey of Ferelden, Hero of Ferelden!"

"Bollocks, I spent the entire battle of Denerim in a brothel. Hardly heroic," she muttered as an aside to her husband.

They started down the aisle at a stately pace, tipping their heads at first one noble and then another in a solemn ritual that made Joss want to bark at the moon. Instead, she whispered, "Lannister?" glancing at Teagan with wide-eyed innocence.

"If I agreed to that name what would you do, Lady Josslyn?"

An inelegant snort of laughter caught her by surprise. "Call him Lanny?"

Teagan stumbled and Joss tightened her grip on his arm. "Well, look at you, all light and lively on your toes," she snickered.

Teagan smiled, covering her hand with his and squeezing gently. "You won't get the chance to call him Lanny; it remains on the banned list."

"Ungh," she replied, trying to lower her bulk into a thoughtfully provided chair.

"Pardon?" Teagan asked, levity leaving his voice.

"Apparently Inglebert isn't happy today."

"At the _top _of the banned list," Teagan replied.

"That's enough out of you, Abelard," she whispered to her swollen middle as another twinge caught her attention.

"Also on the banned list," Teagan whispered.

"When did you become such an old stick in the mud?"

"When did we meet?"

Her elbow accidentally collided with his ribs and he gave a grunt of surprise, a smile hidden behind a cough.

"Faustus?"

"Banned."

"Harley, perhaps? Or maybe Davidson? That's a very strong sounding name."

"I believe we settled the matter some time ago," he whispered.

"You two stop that twittering and cooing thing you do. It's nauseating," Jowan complained, leaning over her shoulder. He, Cathair and Randal were down from Soldier's Peak where they were trying to put things to rights and take an accurate head count of the Dryden clan.

They were also sorting through a long list of Grey Warden candidates, including the young woman Shayle had carried from the battlefield, Mhairi. She was extraordinarily enthusiastic about joining the Grey Wardens. Even after Joss had pulled her aside and explained why it was a bad idea for women to join the Wardens, the young woman had not been deterred.

Privately Joss thought it might be that the young woman was under the mistaken belief that they still rode griffons, or something equally as romantic and nonsensical. Joss worried that Mhairi would never make it through the Joining, even with Avernus's super secret raspberry surprise Joining recipe.

"Aye, hold it down, I'm takin' a nap," Oghren agreed, snorting loudly as he shifted in his seat.

"A little promotion and it goes straight to your head," Joss sniffed, tossing a smile in his direction. He was General Oghren now, in charge of the newly formed Queen's Army, the first dwarf to hold a rank in any of the human armies of Ferelden. Or so the Ferelden Inquirer claimed. Anora was not pleased. At. All. That made it a win-win as far as Joss was concerned.

"Alistair Theirin, Teyrn of Highever, Hero of Ferelden, Defender of Denerim and Grey Warden! Elissa Cousland Theirin, Teyrna of Highever and Royal Advisor!"

Elissa and Alistair entered the hall and made their way to the raised dais, taking their seats quickly. Even from a distance, Joss could see the fine sheen of sweat on Alistair's brow. He was having a difficult time sitting still, but Elissa, resplendent in a watered silk gown of bright blue, sat beside him, occasionally patting his arm.

"Teyrn Alistair looks a bit green around the gills," Randal remarked with a smirk. "Of course, he's looked that way ever since he married Elissa and was given the title. I still say Teyrn Theirin sounds better."

"Teyrn Theirin sounds like something you say after you bite your tongue," Joss argued.

"His Majesty, King Fergus Cousland the First, Protector of Ferelden, Savior of Denerim! Anora Mac Tir Theirin Cousland, Queen Consort!"

The king's boisterous laughter could be heard as he made his way up the aisle, exchanging greetings with most of the nobles. He was very good at the whole king business, Joss gave him that. Anora, looking cool and aloof, not unlike her father, walked beside him, her chin tilted at such an angle that it gave Joss a stiff neck just looking at it.

After a week of round-the-clock negotiations, Anora had finally signed the marriage contract. The wedding had been a week later. And now it was rumored that she was expecting their first, and quite possibly only, child. They were cordial with each other and Fergus accepted her counsel in some matters, but he was more apt to seek her father's council than hers.

Loghain entered from a side chamber and made his way to the dais. Sitting down on the opposite side of the raised platform from Alistair and Elissa, he looked out at the crowd and caught Joss's eye. A slight sneer presented itself to her and she returned it with a wink. He scowled and she winked again. He lowered his head. She still hadn't made him blush, but she had a bet with Zevran and she wasn't going to lose, damn it. She also wanted to know how he had avoided the parade of fools that she'd been subjected to. Bastard.

A low hum of voices rose as Loghain and Fergus seemed to be discussing something of great import. Fergus was nodding and glancing around the hall. Using the opportunity to visit with her friends, Joss leaned back in her chair.

"Has anyone heard from Shayle? Did she and the High and Mighty One arrive in Tevinter yet?" Joss asked, not because she missed Wynne the Wizened, but she did miss her pet rock, who'd gone in search of a way to return to her squishy dwarven self.

Joss had asked them to look for anything that had the same design as the amulet Styx had found and that was now swimming in lava somewhere in the Deep Roads. Shayle had promised to forward any information they discovered. Joss wasn't really sure she wanted to know, but forewarned was better than the alternative. She'd also recommended that Wynne look for a way to get rid of her abomispirit while she was there. Wynne had huffed and folded her arms across her chest, but had been strangely quiet. It almost made Joss believe in the Maker.

Leliana had decided she missed Bymbeau Caron and she'd left for Orlais shortly after the death of the Archdemon. When Teagan had asked where Joss wanted to go on their wedding trip, she'd replied, "Anywhere but Orlais."

She blinked, surprised to realize that the king was speaking. Fergus was an excellent orator, but there was a steady parade of people being called forth and granted favors and boons, and the occasional title, and her eyelids began to insist on closing. And then they snapped open because the little twinges she'd been having since breakfast had suddenly decided to become a bit more serious.

"Aghhh," she hissed, gripping the arms of her chair.

"My dear, is it time? Shall I fetch a healer?" Teagan asked, his voice just slightly on the wrong side of calm. The cramping pain had passed and she took a deep breath.

"No worries," she lied, wondering how soon the ceremony would end because she thought she might be about to give birth, and, though she wasn't normally a modest person, delivering a baby in front of a roomful of nobles was not something she relished. At. All. A quiet bubble of laughter spilled from her as she pictured their reaction to such an event.

"Joss?" Teagan asked, frowning with concern.

"I'm fine, really. Maker's brass balls! What is Fergus nattering on about?" she growled. All right, _fine_ might have been an exaggeration.

"It is with great pleasure that I call upon Arlessa Josslyn to kneel – or perhaps stand would be a better alternative – before me."

Joss climbed out of her chair with the grace of a drunken bear, not that she'd actually ever seen a drunken bear, but she suspected it would look very similar. Teagan moved to her side, and his firm grip on her elbow reassured her that if she fell, he'd come with her.

"Josslyn Winifred Amell Guerrin, you stand before your humbled king, who wishes to grant you a boon of your choice. Your courage and dedication in ending the Blight saved countless Fereldans. We, as a nation, and I as your friend, are indebted to you. Name your wish and it will be fulfilled if it is within my power."

"Remember that we are in mixed company, my dear Warden," Zevran added in a whisper, standing just to the right of the king, wearing dark leathers and a pair of daggers.

"Well in that case, I may as well go and sit back down," she retorted.

"I'd be willing, regardless," Fergus deadpanned.

"Maybe in a few months," Teagan intoned, looking at Joss's swollen belly.

"Spoilsport," Joss said.

Her heart, suddenly deciding it was time to do a lively two-step, bounced around in her chest as she cleared her throat to ask for her boon. She must be crazy. Well, of course she was, but today maybe a bit crazier than normal. That was hardly reassuring. Teagan gave her an encouraging smile.

Joss closed her eyes and gripped Teagan's arm tightly as the earlier twinges gave way to full-blown cramping pain. Her thoughts scattered to the four winds, her carefully rehearsed speech chasing after them. Once the pain eased, she tried again. "Maybe – ungh – perhaps if we establish a presence of mages and templars in the chantries throughout Fereld- aghhh!"

"My dear?" Teagan asked, anxiety running rampant in his voice.

"I'm fine, really, just a twinge," she reassured him, only to feel a rush of warm liquid. "Or, you know, not."

"Uh oh," Fergus interjected, which made Joss's nerves snap to life and go leaping about. "Teagan, take Joss into the king's chamber. Zevran, fetch our healer."

And that was the end of her trying to ask for a boon. She gave Teagan a faint smile. "I think Bharimannilo is trying to ask for his own b-ouch!"

"Also on the banned list," Teagan replied calmly, his anxiety apparently on hiatus. He supported her as they made their way to the small chamber off the main hall where a very inviting divan called her name and she waddled to it. With Teagan's help, she lowered herself with a sigh, amazed that it didn't break under her weight.

She wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh or cry. While she hated public speaking, she had been serious about her boon, a state she was not at all used to.

"I'm sure you're shocked that I've made a mess of this," she said glumly.

Teagan knelt beside her. "My dear, I wouldn't have you any other way."

"You're just saying that because I'm about to give you a son. You'll sing a different tune afterwards."

"No doubt, dear wife, no doubt."

And that was the last intelligent conversation she had for quite some time. She was aware, in between bouts of insanity, of people coming and going, of Teagan bathing her face with a cool cloth, of someone using the most colorful language she'd ever heard in a voice that sounded remarkably like her own, and of contractions that seemed to go on forever. When it was over, and they handed her the baby, her mouth hung open and she began to laugh.

"You are a wretched brat, Brin, and you're no doubt having a laugh at my expense, wherever you are."

**4 months and 1 week after the end of the Blight**

_Birth Announcement posted on the Chanter's Board and various other locations throughout Denerim_:

The Arl and Arlessa of Amaranthine are proud to announce the birth of their daughter, Annwyl Rhosyn Guerrin. In lieu of gifts, they ask that you donate to the Rebuild Lothering Fund.

~~Fin~~

**A/N:** _Annwyl Rhosyn is of Welsh origin and means: Beloved Rose.  
And there it is; the end of a very long tale of an irreverent mage who lived in a tower and the handsome noble who rescued her…or perhaps she rescued him._

I will never be able to express my gratitude and thanks for all those who put the story on their favorites, who PM'd me, the lurkers, and those who read and reviewed. I am grateful beyond measure. Thank you.


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